


Letting the cables sleep

by Pixxit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-10
Updated: 2008-10-05
Packaged: 2019-09-15 03:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 113,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxit/pseuds/Pixxit
Summary: Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone.  A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.





	1. Chapter 1

Summer in Fukuoka was miserably hot. The humidity was, at times, nearly unbearable and even growing up in Okinawa where it was always warm didn’t do much in the way of conditioning someone when it came to the kind of humidity that made your hair droop and your skin shiny.

Fortunately, Kite Eishirou had an irrepressible cowlick and happily operated under the assumption that the wet look suited him very well, indeed. It was more than self-confidence that allowed Kite to stroll unhurried along the canal, however. Up ahead was his favorite coffee shop and – though the path that he took along the river was nearly completely shaded due to the position of the sun – Kite had every intention of settling near the window and enjoying an ice cold caramel latte while he read the newspaper. It was, he assured himself, the absolute most refreshing, relaxing manner in which he could possibly pass an afternoon.

Or at least, he silently amended, it was the most refreshing, relaxing manner in which he could possibly pass an afternoon since Rin had gone back to Okinawa. These days, there wasn’t much in Kite’s life that made him feel settled. Normal. He’d done an admirable job of convincing himself that it wasn’t important, though, and frequently reminded himself that love – or any facsimile thereof – was completely inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It hadn’t mattered when he’d spent all his time focusing on the upcoming match and it didn’t matter now. Not when his primary obligation was to his studies and the medical degree that he was very nearly killing himself to obtain.

No, what mattered now was maintaining his sharp, mental focus – his edge – and succeeding at that which he’d set out to do. And he would _do it_ – come what may.  
  
These were Kite’s thoughts when pushed his glasses up along the bridge of his nose and opened the café’s door carefully. With a light touch, the bells overhead chimed merrily instead of jangling obnoxiously as they did whenever some lout pulled hard on the door handle in order to get inside and away from the stifling heat. He couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to be in such a hurry – even on a weekend when they had no real place to go – and he’d begun to wonder if he were the only person in the city who still harbored an appreciation for subtlety.

With the door easing closed behind him, Kite moved toward the counter, glad for the cool air and dim lighting and the sweet, familiar scent of sugar and dark, rich coffee. Already he could feel the sweat drying on his skin and looked forward to the heavy whipped cream – stiff and just the right amount of sweet – that the shop’s employees used so liberally on Kite’s favorite drink.  
  
He smiled at the young girl behind the counter – her sweet smile that was so at odds with her dark, wicked eyes – and Kite was immediately reminded of Kai. This was the kind of girl his friend got moony and calf-eyed over and Kite could remember many a night when Kai had tried to pick a fight with him after having too much to drink and declaring that Kite had been attempting to put the moves on the girl Kai had had his eye on.

A girl just like this one. Sweet on the surface but Kite didn’t miss the jagged line of ink just under the strap of her apron. His glasses glinted in the light and he didn’t miss the appreciative glance she swept him with before she tilted her head and moistened her pretty, pale lips. Women were always looking at Kite that way and he had long since learned how best to respond. They never realized that he was humoring them in an attempt to spare their feelings and it had taken Kai almost four years of high school to figure out that his casual flirtations with women were just that.

“Hi,” she said, reaching up to twirl a strand of blue-black hair around her fingertips. “What can I get you?”

“Triple caramel iced latte. Whole milk. Whipped cream. I’ll be having it here.”

His order was always the same and he never ordered it to go as he preferred the size of the heavy, ceramic cups they used to the oversized, paper to-go cups that gave space to too much milk and not enough coffee. Besides that, Kite preferred to enjoy his drink in relative peace and unless he was lounging near one of the picture windows overlooking the river, his enjoyment was sorely hindered.

Reaching under the counter for a cup – sea green, Kite’s favorite color – the girl smiled. “You like sweet things, then?”

Brushing aside an errant forelock, Kite offered her a faint smile in return. “Who doesn’t?”

Turning to make ready his order, the girl laughed softly – husky and knowing – and Kite made a mental note to bring Kai here the next time he came for a visit.

“Me,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, her gaze heavy with meaning. “I like it bitter and strong.”

_In that case, you’ll love what life has in store for you, little wild girl._

Kite shook his head and fished out his wallet. No more flirting – he wasn’t in the mood.

The girl took his money, handed him a receipt and studiously attempt to catch his gaze at least twice more while his coffee brewed, but Kite had since moved on to less provocative pastures. Slipping his wallet back into his back pocket, he turned to peruse the café, his gaze skipping over this person and that person – it wasn’t crowded, really – and stared in surprise when he recognized the young man seated at the table just next to the window alcove that he so adored.

It had been nearly five years since he’d laid eyes on Tezuka Kunimitsu, but one glance was all it had taken; Kite would recognize Seigaku’s most respected ace anywhere.

Engrossed in a book as he was, he didn’t look up and Kite, as surprised as he was to find an old rival taking refuge in his happy place, didn’t do anything to call attention to himself. Tezuka had bested him where it had truly counted, once. Kite imagined that this was the perfect time to settle an old score. In this café – with so much insignificance between them – he could meet Tezuka in quite a different context. It would make all the difference, he told himself, now patently ignoring the girl behind the counter, on a day like today when he had nothing to look forward to and nothing of any real importance to do.

With a murmured thanks to the girl, Kite took his cup in both hands and headed in Tezuka’s direction. Alcove forgotten, Kite was not disappointed to realize that Tezuka had not changed much, physically, since they’d last met. If anything, he was even more attractive. Less severe, softer around the edges. Perhaps he’d found some purpose in life that didn’t hinge solely on responsibility and obligation. Perhaps, like Kite – he’d had a taste of real life and all the pleasure and sadness it could offer.

He was wearing a sea-green sweater vest over a snug, white tee and with his artfully tousled hair and expression of concentration; Kite could not ignore his body’s instinctive response to so handsome and distant a man. Didn’t it just figure that Tezuka Kunimitsu – tight ass that he was – would grow up to be his type?

If only Rin could see him now, he mused as he approached Tezuka’s table.

‘He’d leave you all over again’, his subconscious told him acridly. Kite ignored it.

He took a seat opposite Tezuka, setting his cup down on the small, round table and draping one arm over the back of his chair in the very picture of calm, cool and collected, and he did not smile a greeting when Tezuka’s gaze lifted just above the edge of his book to settle on Kite.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, giving nothing of himself away in the low tone of his voice. Kite had expected as much, truly, and was somewhat pleased with himself for maintaining some manner of implacability.

“Sylvia Plath,” he murmured. “Interesting. Pithy, even.”

When Tezuka merely continued to stare, his mug sitting just at his elbow, empty but for the remnants of whipped cream drying to the rim, Kite leaned in and bent to lick at the spiral of whipped cream atop his own drink.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked lightly.

Tezuka made some small sound of acknowledgement and turned his attention back to the words before him. “I can’t imagine anyone not remembering someone whose nickname is ‘Hitman’.

He paused, for only a second, and eased his cup away from him. “And I assure you that there is nothing pithy about Sylvia Plath.”

Kite did not smile, amused though he was. So much for softer around the edges. “Perhaps I meant ‘boring’.”

His every movement spare and precise, Tezuka picked up his bookmark – a small scrap of fabric with an elaborate ‘K’ embroidered in the center – marked his place, and lay the book aside. Though he did not say a word, there was no mistaking his faint disapproval and when he met Kite’s eyes squarely, Kite merely stared back. A sudden sharp, unexpected surge of lust was his and he picked up his cup to cover his reaction.

After a moment, Tezuka surprised him by being the first to break the silence and Kite realized that he was more than receptive to a bit of conversation. “Do you live here, also?”

Kite nodded once, turning his cup in his hands. “I do. University, you know. How about yourself?”

“Aa, the same.”

Taking a slow sip from his drink, Kite regarded Tezuka over the rim of his cup and realized that he wasn’t bothered in the least by guilt, or regret or sorrow or any of the useless emotions Rin probably anticipated that he might feel for having the audacity to desire Tezuka Kunimitsu when he hadn’t yet been gone a full two weeks.  
  
“Med school,” Kite offered, licking at the whipped cream clinging to the few ice cubes that clinked against the sides of the cup. Tezuka watched him and Kite held his gaze when he didn’t seem to think he shouldn’t look away. His interest was blatant – whatever its origin.

Riveted by Kite’s tongue and the way his lips closed over an ice chip, Tezuka’s eyes darkened – barely discernable behind the lenses of his glasses – and it was in this way alone that Kite knew he and Tezuka Kunimitsu had more in common than an avid interest in tennis.

“Classic Literature,” Tezuka murmured, swallowing reflexively.

Kite sipped again, watching the line of Tezuka’s throat as he knew that Tezuka was watching his and he realized that he’d just found his next few hours’ entertainment. Whether or not Tezuka was immediately amenable, Kite knew the end result would be the same. Before the sun set over the river, Tezuka would be in Kite’s bed.

“So, Tezuka,” he said, voice smug. “Do you still dislike me?

Arching one brow, Tezuka leaned forward – elbows on the table – and pinned Kite with an intense, searching look. “You’re not the first person I’ve known with an inflated opinion of himself.”

Lips quirking in just a hint of a smile, Kite drained his glass and set it down beside Tezuka’s. He licked his lips. “So I’ve heard.”

When Tezuka’s eyes narrowed, seemingly uninterested in getting the next word, Kite went on. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

Without batting an eyelash, Tezuka said, “Intensely.”

Kite laughed, unable to prevent it, and the look he gave Tezuka then was quite a bit removed from the one Tezuka gave him in return. “You want to come back to my place?”

Brows drawn – little crinkle appearing between them – Tezuka blinked in patent confusion. “Why?”

“Well,” he began, holding Tezuka’s gaze. “I’d like the opportunity to change your opinion of me.”

Now it was Tezuka’s turn to laugh – if, indeed, it could even be considered as such – and he shook his head. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Kite’s smile faded and he dropped his gaze to Tezuka’s mouth. “I’d rather show you. I’m not so good with words.”

Tezuka didn’t blink, but his amusement faded somewhat. Kite watched him closely, gauging his every reaction. It was make or break time and Kite did not intend that he would be returning home alone this evening. His instincts were never wrong; he felt certain that Tezuka would be his if he played his cards right.

“I seem to remember you being quite succinct, Kite.”

Hearing his name on those thin, prissy lips fired Kite’s blood and he glanced around leisurely before leaning in closer. “I want to take you home, strip you bare, and pin you to my bed while we find out how many times I can make you come on my cock.”

When Tezuka’s expression didn’t shift, Kite arched a brow. “How’s that for succinct, _Buchou_?”

Tezuka’s jaw tightened minutely and when he stood – stiff and self-righteous just as Kite remembered – Kite sighed, wondering exactly _what_ he'd been expecting.

Leaning to retrieve his book, he glanced quickly at Kite and said, “Fine.”

Looking up, lips parted in near-shock, Kite blinked several times. “Did you just say _yes_?”

Tezuka sniffed, shouldering his messenger bag and avoiding eye contact with anyone. “Yes, I did. Are you withdrawing your offer?"

Kite stood, crowding Tezuka and usurping his personal space, and was forced to bite back his swift intake of breath when Tezuka turned his head to meet his eyes. His expression was almost defiant, though he appeared just as placid as he always had. Kite’s heartbeat quickened. “You have anything else better to do?”

It was an unnecessary challenge, Kite knew, but he couldn’t quite resist. Tezuka seemed to incite that desire within him – more so than the boys he’d grown up with and fought alongside and learned about life with. Perhaps because Tezuka was different, somehow.

‘Better’, whispered Kite’s conscience and he scowled. Better, his _ass_.

Tezuka shook his head and didn’t budge when it became obvious that Kite needed space to get around him. Kite turned, brushing Tezuka’s chest with his own, and liked that he had at least an inch on him. “Good. It’s gonna be a long night.”

Tezuka rolled his eyes, though Kite had already turned away and didn’t notice. He’d heard that one, before.

Kite opened the door – easy and slow – and smiled when the bells overhead chimed sweetly. He didn’t look back; he knew Tezuka was behind him.

+++

There was no conversation between them on the way back to Kite’s apartment. Much to the detriment of Kite’s ego, Tezuka did not fidget as they made their way together. He shifted his bag once, tucking his book away, and spent the remainder of the short walk to Kite’s place simply being distant.

The front entrance, partially obscured by unkempt foliage and an awning that looked as though it might fall at any time, was well shaded and Tezuka tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Poised to open the door, Kite snuck a little glance at his companion and took a moment to admire him. There would be no teasing – no extended foreplay whereupon Kite attempted to coax an old rival into lowering his inhibitions – and Kite doubted there would be many words between them. All he required was Tezuka, warm and naked and tight against him, and Kite realized – as he pushed the door open – that the restlessness he’d been feeling was most likely loneliness. It should have made him sad, he knew. And so he smiled, instead.

“After you,” he murmured, not bothering to conceal the way he dropped his gaze to Tezuka’s ass to openly stare.

With one hand flat on the door, just inches from Kite’s, Tezuka fixed him with a withering glance and climbed the first two steps. This time, when Kite smiled, it lit his eyes. Tezuka’s snug white pants and fitted little sweater vest certainly garnered a good amount of Kite’s attention. He couldn’t wait to peel them away from that pretty body.

On the steps, he slipped his hand into Tezuka’s back pocket and climbed the steps close at his side. Giving no outward indication that he was at all bothered by Kite’s familiarity, Tezuka stayed close, but continued to stare straight ahead.

“Which floor is yours?” he asked, bumping Kite’s hip when they rounded the stairwell to the next floor.

“Fourth,” Kite answered, squeezing one cheek of Tezuka’s ass. “Elevator’s broken.”

Making some noncommittal sound, Tezuka gripped the strap of his messenger bag and attempted to pretend that Kite was not fondling him on the stairway. Kite wasn’t bothered by his indifference – he knew what he was going to get when he closed and locked his front door.

“Tezuka,” he said, voice low so as not to echo in the stairwell, and Tezuka glanced over in acknowledgement. If Kite had not thought better of it, he would have sworn that he could detect the slightest blush at Tezuka’s cheeks and he found himself wondering what kind of sex his old rival had partaken of in the recent past. Such thoughts led to memories of nights spent with Rin and all of the incredibly filthy, entirely morally depraved things they’d done to one another in their collective quest for the perfect orgasm.

With Tezuka, Kite knew, there would be little of such adventurous activities. Spreading those pale thighs and getting between them was going to be victory enough for Kite.

Fingertips sliding along the dull, metal railing, Tezuka glanced sideways at Kite. “Mm?”

“Why did you agree to this?”

There was silence between them for long moments and, just as Kite was beginning to think he’d asked a question that he wasn’t going to get an answer to, Tezuka spoke up. “It’s not important.”

Easing his hand out of Tezuka’s back pocket, Kite reached into his pocket for his keys and glanced at Tezuka when he turned the dead bolt. He pushed the door open, gestured the other man inside. Indeed, it wasn’t important and that Tezuka could so easily admit it hinted to Kite that Seigaku’s legend was running from something. It was completely out of character for Tezuka to run – to hide – and Kite realized that such a judgment wasn’t quite fair. He and Tezuka were strangers to one another – what had transpired in the past few years could very well have shaped Tezuka just as Kite himself had been shaped.

Stepping over the threshold, Tezuka kept his gaze lowered when he toed off his shoes and lay his bag against the wall. It was only then that he looked up to watch Kite remove his own shoes and when Kite stepped aside, he held out one hand for Tezuka – palm up.

Tezuka stared at the proffered hand as though it were a snake that might bite him and even as he was beginning to enjoy the softness of the carpet beneath his feet, Kite took a step toward him. And another. Until there was no space between them.

Tezuka did not back up – not even when Kite raised one hand to stroke Tezuka’s cheekbone with the backs of his long, graceful fingers. His every move was deliberate and easy, as though it never occurred to him to push or gain ground with anything other than his own overabundance of confidence.

Turning his head in silent rebuff, Tezuka did not avert his eyes and he recognized the look in Kite’s eyes when his lips curved in the faintest imitation of a smile. “I won’t kiss y-” he began, assertion interrupted when Kite framed his face with both hands to hold him still when he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He didn’t let him go, even when he pulled back a little, and the way Tezuka’s eyes flashed in self-righteous anger made him ever eager for the main event.

“You’re going to do a whole lot more than kiss me, Tezuka,” he said evenly.

Eyes narrowing behind his lenses, Tezuka licked his lips, grazing the corner of Kite’s mouth in the process. “Will I?”

Sliding one hand around to caress the back of his neck, Kite leaned in to rest his forehead against Tezuka’s. “I don’t see any need for you to throw down the gauntlet here, Tezuka.” Voice dropping to a whisper, he tilted Tezuka’s head and kissed the corner of his mouth. “There’s no net between us.”

Fisting the front of Kite’s button-down shirt loosely in his fingers, Tezuka swallowed hard. “Kite.”

Kite slid his hand down Tezuka’s back to nudge him even closer and responded with, “ _Eishirou_.”

If had been Atobe – and it _had_ been Atobe, many, many times before – Tezuka might have made some comment having to do with Atobe’s being so arrogant as to call out his own name in an intimate situation with another person.

But this was _not_ Atobe and, truthfully, that was one of the reasons he’d been so easily able to accept the invitation.

When he did not respond, Kite brushed his thumb over Tezuka’s bottom lip, leaning in to kiss him again before he’d even moved his hand away. “You can say it – if you want to,” he murmured, slipping one hand beneath Tezuka’s shirt to touch the warm, damp skin of his back. “And you’re sweaty.”

Tezuka stiffened, embarrassed but hiding it well. “I’ll shower.”

“Uh-uh,’ Kite protested, slipping his hand into the back of Tezuka’s pants. “I want you this way. Sweaty and slippery under me; you’ll taste so nice.”

Lips parted, as though he had something else to offer on the subject, Tezuka did not object when Kite attempted to kiss him again. While he’d allowed himself to be seduced before, he’d never capitulated in any situation where he didn’t truly have the upper hand. Whatever he’d agreed to in this room – with this man – would be something he’d never experienced before.

Kite kissed in exactly the same manner that he moved – slow, confident, deliberate – and it didn’t take many more of those kisses before Tezuka finally lifted one hand to rest at Kite’s shoulder. It was then, and only then, that Kite stroked his cheek again and deepened the kiss to such a degree that Tezuka had difficulty drawing breath.

“Kite,” he gasped, tipping his head back. “I can’t breathe.”

Gripping his ass snugly, Kite nosed at the curve of Tezuka’s neck. “Eishirou,” he reminded gently. “Say it.”

Maintaining his mutinous silence, no matter that his cock was hard in his snug little jeans, Tezuka squeezed Kite’s shoulder and tightened his hold on his shirt. Kite licked his neck and rocked his hips forward, murmuring his approval when Tezuka hissed his name.

“ _Eishirou_.”

He didn’t murmur sweetly, he didn’t beseech – didn’t whisper. Kite’s name on Tezuka’s lips was entirely too reminiscent of the look in his eyes when Seigaku had sent Higa home without the medal that they’d come for.

But this wasn’t tennis and they weren’t teenagers and Kite’s definition of victory had changed somewhat over the years. All the victory he required was sweaty and panting against him.

When he stepped back, releasing Tezuka to loosen the buttons of his shirt, Kite let the fabric slip off of his shoulder before turning away toward the back of the apartment. His shirt hung loosely from his wrists as he walked away, back bared for Tezuka’s perusal.

And peruse he _did_. Following behind him, Tezuka allowed his gaze to drop to the lower part of Kite’s back, that small dip just over the swell of his buttocks, and he couldn’t help noticing the casual, low-slung pants he wore. They weren’t tight, they revealed nothing, but were all the more enticing for it.

Kite’s hair was a bit longer, straight, dark strands clinging to his neck, and Tezuka wondered if Kite would enjoy the feel of his fingers slipping through them. He knew that he would want to touch, would want to cling and, even more encouraging was the knowledge that Kite probably _knew_ what Tezuka desired in a bedmate. From the moment Tezuka had met his eyes over the edge of a novel that wasn’t quite capable of holding his attention, he’d known that Kite had identified something in him. He’d guessed – correctly – at Tezuka’s real desire, his true nature, as accurately as if they’d shared a bed many times before.

Kite hovered near the door when Tezuka followed him inside and though they were alone in the apartment, he moved aside to allow Kite to close the door behind them. The shades were drawn and the room was still. Dust motes danced in the dying sunlight filtering into the room and Tezuka breathed in, tasting citrus and sandalwood at the back of his throat. The room smelled like Kite, felt like Kite, even when Tezuka didn’t know enough about him to feign any sort of familiarity.

They stood close for a moment, neither man looking at the other, and when Kite took a small step toward him to take the edges of Tezuka’s sweater between his fingers, Tezuka raised his arms slowly. Pulling the vest over Tezuka’s head, Kite lay it on the small, polished dresser without bothering to fold it and before Tezuka could say a word, Kite was lifting the edges of his t-shirt and easing it up along his chest.

Removing the tee mussed Tezuka’s hair and Kite swept his bare torso and expectant, open expression with an appreciative glance as he pressed the thin shirt to his lips. He closed his eyes when he inhaled deeply of the fabric and watching him made Tezuka’s knees weak. Kite Eishirou was blatantly sexual, unrepentant and confidently, wickedly secure.

He lay his own shirt atop Tezuka’s and rubbed the pad of one thumb over Tezuka’s collarbone when he coaxed him toward the bed. “Come here, Tezuka,” he murmured, one hand sliding along his arm toward his back to bring him close.

Tezuka went. Lifting his hands to rest at Kite’s shoulders, he tilted his head to bare his neck when Kite kissed him there. He touched Tezuka’s hair – softer than he thought it might be – and reached between them to unfasten Tezuka’s belt, then his buttons and when he lowered the zipper of his tight, prissy little fuck-me pants, he held him tighter in a one-armed, embrace.

Tezuka didn’t move, didn’t ask him what he was doing, and even as his eyelashes fluttered when Kite tongued the curve of his ear, he stared over Kite’s shoulder at the bed against the wall. Despite how neat and precise and orderly the rest of the room was, the bed was the one thing that didn’t fit. Pillows were strewn this way and that and the sheets were creased and wrinkled as though Kite had passed several sleepless nights between them. He found, however, that he didn’t particularly want to speculate on Kite’s habits – nocturnal or otherwise. Particularly when he began to ease Tezuka’s pants and plain, white underwear over his hips.

He tensed when Kite knelt before him to remove his pants – one hand light but sure at the back of one thigh to help Tezuka maintain his balance – and curled his fingers tighter at his shoulders. Tapping his leg to indicate that he should lift his feet, Kite tugged Tezuka’s pants away from him and tossed them aside. He curled one arm around Tezuka’s leg and rubbed his face against Tezuka’s thigh.

Exhaling slowly, Tezuka touched the back of Kite’s neck and closed his eyes when he brushed a kiss over his hip and turned his head to rub his cheek against the smooth skin pulled taut over the sharp plane of his hipbone. His heart skipped a beat and his cock jerked involuntarily. It was a perfectly natural and expected reaction to Kite’s proximity, but it made Tezuka uneasy and bashful all the same.

“Kite,” he said, not entirely sure that he should be speaking at all.

Kite licked his hipbone and nipped at Tezuka’s skin. He didn’t correct Tezuka or insist that he call him by his first name and when he slid his palms over Tezuka’s buttocks to grip them possessively, he rubbed his lips against the crown of Tezuka’s erection.

Tezuka sucked in a breath.

Kite looked up, held his stare when he closed his lips around his cock. He was careful, tentative, and he didn’t move to take Tezuka further in. Instead, he licked and sucked at the tip, lips shiny with saliva when he pulled back. Tezuka found that he was unable to swallow.

“ _Eishirou_.”

Kite stood, one hand immediately dropping to the buttons of his own pants when he leaned in to kiss Tezuka’s mouth again. “I want to lay you down,” he said, lips moving against Tezuka’s. “I want to fuck you, Tezuka.”

Tezuka stood immobile, chest rising and falling while he watched Kite strip off his pants. He wore little beneath them, nothing more than a scrap of black fabric that didn’t conceal anything. Tezuka wondered why he would wear underwear at all when the ones he clearly preferred were so completely non-functional.

Gaze shifting to the bed again, Tezuka snuck a glance at Kite again just in time to see him hook two thumbs in his skimpy underwear and ease them down over his cock. Naked, he was glorious – all long, toned limbs and elegant musculature. His hipbones were sharp and narrow and his cock stood out thick and flushed from a patch of neatly clipped hair. His legs were long and shapely – muscled like the rest of him but not enough to detract from the beauty that was his.

Kite nodded, noticing the direction in which Tezuka had glanced and he kicked his underwear aside when Tezuka turned toward the bed at last.

“The bed’s a little rumpled,” he said, his tone not indicative that he might be feeling at all apologetic. “But then, we’d have mussed the blankets quite a bit anyway, don’t you think?”

“Did you have someone here last night?”

Moving in behind him, Kite rested his hands on Tezuka’s hips and nuzzled his neck. It was distracting and Tezuka closed his eyes, reaching behind him to lay one palm against Kite’s thigh.

“Would that bother you?” he asked, splaying one hand at Tezuka’s lower belly, stroking him with his thumb idly. His restraint was faultless, though Tezuka could feel his erection pressing insistently against his buttocks and the way Kite’s muscles tensed when he touched Tezuka.

Considering it for a moment, Tezuka turned his head to catch Kite’s gaze. “Yes,” he murmured. He didn’t go on to elaborate on the fact that rolling around on the same sheets that Kite had rolled around on with someone just the night before made him uneasy. He didn’t add that it was disrespectful and unsanitary because he knew that Kite would think so, too. He didn’t say that if Kite’s answer was ‘yes’, then all bets were off and there would be no further contact between them. Because that would be a lie and Tezuka was not a liar.

“No,” Kite breathed, catching Tezuka’s earlobe between his teeth and rubbing his dick against Tezuka’s buttocks. “I’ve been sleeping alone for a couple of weeks now.”

Tezuka nodded – or perhaps he’d only intended to – and he turned in Kite’s embrace to face him. He wound his arms around Kite’s neck and took his mouth in an unexpected, heated kiss, grunting against his lips when Kite pushed him back onto the bed. Tezuka might have protested if Kite hadn’t been so quick to follow him down and he’d barely stretched out over him when he was forcing kiss after deep, sucking kiss to Tezuka’s lips.

For long, breathless moments they kissed, Kite’s hand stealing into Tezuka’s hair to stroke his scalp and Tezuka moaned when he parted his legs to allow Kite to settle between them. Kite thrust against him, his cock nudging Tezuka’s while his hands roamed the smooth expanse of his body and Tezuka moaned again.

Rising on both elbows, Kite eased Tezuka’s glasses away from his face, silencing his protest with another hot, dominant kiss as he felt along the nightstand to lay them aside. He touched his face, staring into his eyes and marveling at how much younger and how much more vulnerable he appeared without those frames to hide behind. Even more surprising was the look in them when Tezuka reached up to remove Kite’s glasses. He held them tightly in one hand, only releasing them when Kite pried his fingers loose.

Laying them beside Tezuka’s on the nightstand, Kite slid both hands into Tezuka’s hair and kissed and nipped at his lips, never seeking to deepen the kiss, merely intending to incite.

Tezuka whined, parting his lips and arching – just short of begging – and Kite reached between them to wrap his fingers around Tezuka’s cock. His reaction was immediate and completely unhindered and as he arched his back and bared his neck, another rough, needy sound escaped his lips and his belly clenched.

Kite immediately backed off, gripping Tezuka’s hips and guiding him to turn over onto his belly. Tezuka obliged, legs trembling when he climbed to his knees, and Kite shocked him when he knelt behind him and hauled his hips up. Tezuka made to rise, only to slump back against the mattress when Kite ran a hand up his spine to press between his shoulder blades.

“Just like this,” he instructed, soothing Tezuka’s uneasiness by rubbing his lower back in small circles. “You’re too close. I want more of you than this.”

Tezuka moaned when Kite’s thumbs pressed hard into his buttocks and he moaned yet again when Kite spread him apart.

“Ahh…Eishirou…what are you-”

And then Kite’s mouth was on him. His tongue and his lips and his hot, damp breath and Tezuka arched his back again, muscles tense and cock stiff and his mouth open in a silent scream against the pillow.

He could feel Kite’s thumbs edging into the cleft of his buttocks, hard and gripping tight when he licked and sucked at him. The sounds he made, low, purring, completely satisfied with himself and the task before him, were as arousing to Tezuka as the knowledge of what they were doing and he gasped when his cock jerked to leak against the sheet. “Please,” he breathed, though he doubted that Kite had heard him and he tightened instinctively when Kite slid one finger slowly, deeply into him.

He gasped, biting his lip to keep from crying out aloud when Kite circled his anus with one finger only to push two inside him again. He fingered him that way for two or three minutes, reveling in Tezuka’s restraint and the soft, grunting sounds he made and he reached beneath him to rub his belly, careful not to touch his cock.

“I wish I could fuck your ass and suck your cock at the same time,” Kite told him, voice low. “I’d suck you dry.”

Tezuka spread his legs a bit more, becoming restless and desperate and hoping that Kite was absorbed enough in their intimacy to avoid observing his every reaction. “Do it,” he finally gasped, his cock hard and beginning to ache.

Withdrawing his fingers, Kite spread him open again to nip and suck at him. He was hot – incredibly so – and when Kite pushed his tongue inside him, Tezuka’s voice broke over the sound he made.

Pulling back to nibble gently at the curve of Tezuka’s bottom, Kite licked his lips. “What do you want me to do, Tezuka?” His voice was rough and there was no indication that he was teasing – there was no lightness to his tone and that alone enabled Tezuka to answer him honestly.

“Fuck me,” he murmured, lips pressed to the now-damp pillow.

Unable to resist one last taste of him – sweaty and musky and all the things that Kite loved about sex with a man – he palmed Tezuka’s ass and rose above him, belly smooth over Tezuka’s back when he reached toward the bedside table.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sincerely hoped that Tezuka wouldn’t deny his kisses after what he’d done. To Kite, sex was only perfect when he was able to be as dirty and as unrestrained as he liked. Looking down at Tezuka as he retrieved a bottle of lube and flipped the cap to pour a liberal amount into his hand, he thought he might have found a partner with just that right mix of false inhibition and quiet desperation. As he slicked his cock and coated his fingers to slip between the crack of Tezuka’s ass, Kite suspected that Tezuka wasn’t anywhere near as untouchable as he liked people to think he was. Shoulders pinned to Kite’s bed with his pretty ass in the air, Tezuka held himself still – held himself ready – and Kite wasn’t fooled by his reserved demeanor. This Tezuka, this hot, whimpering creature who was biting Kite’s pillow in preparation of a good, hard fucking, was one that Kite regretted not knowing years before.

He tossed the bottle aside and gripped Tezuka’s hips with slippery fingers. Bending forward to cover Tezuka’s back, he pressed a kiss to the middle of his back and slid two fingers between Tezuka’s buttocks to rub him, to tease him. “Relax.”

Inhaling slowly, Tezuka nodded, fingers tight at Kite’s pillow when he shifted to ease inside. Kite stroked him, touched his hips, his thighs, his belly, and grunted when he pushed into him. Barely breached, Tezuka shuddered, chilled through the thin layer of sweat that covered him and took another deep breath. He wouldn’t say ‘please’ again.

Sliding one hand up Tezuka’s back to grip his shoulder, Kite pushed inside him, lips parted on the breathless exhalation that sounded suspiciously like Tezuka’s first name.

“Ah _god_ , Tezuka.”

He pulled back, answered Tezuka’s faint moan with one of his own and pushed back into him – harder this time. Tezuka tensed, biting down hard on Kite’s pillow, fingers white-knuckled and cock rock hard and leaking. Kite stroked him once, palmed his balls and flexed his hips to get even deeper inside him – the friction was mind-blowing.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I used a lot of lube, Tezuka. Have you ever been barebacked before?”

Tezuka’s answer was a rough growl into the pillow and Kite began to move in earnest, gripping Tezuka’s hips and fucking him slow, fucking him deep until Tezuka began to writhe beneath him.

Breathing hard, moving together, the heat and the moisture and the mind-numbing pleasure between them was enough of a distraction that Kite could not allow his mind to wander, but when he looked down at Tezuka – taking in the smooth, graceful line of his back – Kite knew that he didn’t want to come this way.

Bending one knee, with one foot flat on the bed, he changed the angle of penetration, quick and shallow to gauge Tezuka’s reaction. Tezuka raised his head and cried out for Kite and the way he tightened around Kite’s dick was almost enough to bring the curtain down early.

Kite withdrew, hissing when he slid free of Tezuka’s body, and rubbed his slick, hard cock against the small of Tezuka’s back before rolling him over again. Tezuka went easily, staring up at Kite with dark, dazed eyes, barely able to part his lips when Kite kissed him again. This kiss was too deep, too wet, - far, far too intimate - and when Kite hooked an arm under one of Tezuka’s legs to get inside him again, Tezuka raised both arms overhead and closed his eyes.

Kite turned him – half on his side – and draped one long leg over his shoulder when he touched Tezuka’s anus with careful fingertips. He was hot, wet, stretched but not indecently so, and Kite slid into him easily enough this time.

Tezuka turned his head, moaned softly, and Kite wrapped one arm around his thigh when he leaned into him. He wanted to kiss him again, wanted to press him close and suck his lips when he brought him, but – from this angle – he could see every line of Tezuka’s body, every minute reaction that Kite provoked.

Tezuka’s cock was hard and flushed against his belly and Kite wondered if he would consent to staying the night if it meant Kite would suck his cock later. He looked to be edging away from pleasure and into territory that turned sexual frustration painful. As much as Kite wanted to draw the experience out, he knew that Tezuka needed something more closely resembling consideration.

“Tezuka, look at me,” he coaxed, moving inside him at just the right angle and exactly the right pace. Tezuka was sweating, he was tense, he was slack-jawed with the intensity they shared and when he rolled his eyes Kite’s way, he looked positively mindless.

Kite’s cock swelled – he was dangerously close to the finish line, despite his determination that there would be no teasing and no extended foreplay between them – and Tezuka bared his neck and moaned weakly. It was too much; Kite had never had a man in his bed that was capable of turning him inside out the way Tezuka seemed determined to do. Not even Rin – for all that Kite would have sworn was his ideal bedmate – could milk his cock the way Tezuka was able to do without even expending much effort.

Wrapping his fingers around Tezuka’s cock, Kite gripped him snugly, moaning when Tezuka clamped tight around him. “You’re going to bring me, Tezuka – be careful.”

Tezuka was panting, gasping for breath, and his cock leaked between Kite’s fingers when he stroked him. “Why?” he managed.

“Because,” Kite ground out, leaning over him to change his angle yet again. “You’re going to come first.”

Tezuka arched, lips parted and hair obscuring his eyes when Kite hit his stride, fucking him in slow, measured strokes and faultless rhythm. “God, Tezuka,” he said, beyond caring that the sheets were slipping free of the mattress and the blanket had already slid to the floor. All that mattered was the man beneath him, out of his mind with lust and unable to do a damned thing about it without Kite’s hand on his cock, Kite’s dick inside him.

“Come on,” he urged, belly tightening with his own imminent orgasm as he stroked Tezuka faster, tighter. “Don’t make me flip you over and eat that sweet ass again. You’ll be so crazy to come that you’ll be trying to rub your dick on my bed like a little dog.”

That did it.

Eyes widening, Tezuka sucked in a breath and nearly rose to his elbows when he arched his back to shoot his release in a wide, fluid arc across his body to land in silent spatters against his neck, his face and Kite’s pillow.

When he finally exhaled, flopping back against the bed like a smooth, pale rag doll, Kite closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and pushed hard into Tezuka. He didn’t withdraw, simply pressed flush against him to come hard and spill hot into the clenching heat of his body. When he was spent – when he felt as though Tezuka had wrung the orgasm from him by sheer force – he collapsed atop him.

Breathing – panting – in counterpoint, Kite burrowed his face against Tezuka’s neck to kiss him lazily. He tasted of salt, sweat, heat and Kite breathed him in deep. “Put your arms around me,” he said, words muffled against Tezuka’s neck, and Tezuka obeyed, wincing when Kite finally slid free of him. He lay his palms flat at Kite’s back and hooked his ankle around Kite’s leg.

“Holy fucking shit, Tezuka,” he panted, touching his hair, his neck, his shoulder. “That was incredible.”

Tezuka didn’t answer, though he slid his fingertips along Kite’s back in the barest imitation of a caress. It had been, but he was completely unable to talk about it.

Kite shifted, rolling to his back and flinging one arm over his eyes. He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t get enough space, couldn’t get the taste and the feel of Tezuka Kunimitsu off of his tongue and out of his pores. When Tezuka shifted, as though to pull away, Kite wrapped an arm around him to pull him back.

With Tezuka against him, over him, Kite realized that he rather liked the taste and the feel of him. Even when he had no words to offer, the sentiment was recognizable enough.

“Stay the night.” he said, before he could think better of it.

Resting his head tentatively at Kite’s chest, Tezuka frowned. “I…wasn’t anticipating that you would ask,” he finally said, feeling as though to be less than honest made no sense, considering what had just transpired between them.

Across the room, stuck in the edge of Kite’s mirror, was a picture of Rin. It had been taken on the beach and there was no mistaking the depth of emotion in his beautiful eyes. Kite cursed himself silently.

“Neither was I.”

Tezuka fell silent, wanting to touch Kite’s chest, wanting to stroke him there as he’d stroked his back in the moments immediately following his orgasm. It was different now, however – it didn’t feel right or even like something Kite would welcome.

But then Kite touched his hair, slid his fingers through it and rubbed strands of it between his forefinger and his thumb.

“You said you didn’t have anything better to do,” he reminded, voice oddly loud in the sudden stillness around them.

“You never said at all,” Tezuka returned.

Tipping his chin up and forcing eye contact when he wasn’t certain that it was the wisest course of action, Kite lost his train of thought when Tezuka fixed that dark, guarded gaze on him. He stroked his mouth with the edge of his thumb and recalled his desire to have more of Tezuka than he had already. “I don’t. If you stay, I will.”

When Tezuka didn’t answer, Kite bent to nose against his cheek. He was mussed and dirty – he needed a shower. “I’ll make you dinner.”

Tezuka snorted delicately, clearly annoyed. “This is not a date, Kite Eishirou.”

Kite smiled in the near darkness, falling silent and feeling the tension leave Tezuka’s body when he relaxed against him again. After a while, he shifted to drape the sheet over them, holding Tezuka’s wrist snugly when he might have moved away.

“Stay,” he said, again, softer this time and meaning it.

Tezuka didn’t answer, but neither did he move.


	2. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

 

Atobe never stood in shadow.

Outdoors, he drew the sunlight as though he expected no less and Tezuka suspected – if the truth were to be known – that he truly didn’t. When they were younger, Tezuka had scorned Atobe’s overtures, though it hadn’t been more than a couple of years ahead that had seen Tezuka accepting and even anticipating them.

A couple of years after that, Tezuka craved them – craved _Atobe_. The way he smiled at Tezuka in a room full of people; the way he’d catch Tezuka’s gaze when his smile faded and the whole world just fell away. The way Tezuka felt when Atobe reached for him.

He’d wanted him, needed him. _Loved_ him. And though he knew – in his heart – that Atobe loved him, also, there were obstacles in their path that seemed insurmountable. Cursing his romantic ideals when he should have known better, Tezuka felt as though their time had come and gone. It hurt – even now, some four months since he’d last shared space with Atobe Keigo – it hurt so badly that when he dwelled on it, he felt as though he might suffocate.

Their last exchange, not counting the many heated phone conversations and distant, unresolved emails, had hollowed out a place in Tezuka’s heart that he’d determined never to fill again. The pain that he’d experienced at the hands of such involvement was a lesson that Tezuka felt he’d learned very well, indeed.

He would never entrust his heart to someone else and he would never seek to garner the affections of another. Not ever again. And if he ever felt as though his resolve were weakening or if he ever began to forget how deeply such emotion could cut, he would recall the conversation that had been the deal-breaker. The moment Tezuka had known his silly, unspoken, romantic dream would never be reality.

_Turned away from him – that fine, straight back serving as some sort of shield – Atobe’s head was bowed. Silent and pinching the bridge of his nose in a bid for patience or wisdom or any answer at all that might make his impossible situation bearable again. As it had been once when they were kids and didn’t know any better. Tezuka had known it then and – looking back – he was certain that Atobe had known it, too. He simply didn’t possess the freedom or the experience to do what Tezuka had hoped that he would._

_“He still doesn’t know,” he accused, setting aside the glass of champagne that he’d yet to taste._

_Atobe sighed, shoulders rising and falling in clear indication of his lack of patience on this particular topic. “’Mitsu,” he began._

_Shaking his head, Tezuka had to avert his gaze – seeing Atobe search for the patience to deal with him as if he were one of his lackeys galled Tezuka to such an extent that the sight of him was entirely unwelcome._

_“Save it,” he said, voice low but not at all because his chest had begun to ache. Not ever because of that._

_Turning, Atobe glared at Tezuka. There was no mistaking his anguish, his helplessness. Tezuka told himself that he didn’t care – he felt no sympathy._

_“What do you want me to say? What can I do to make this go away, Kunimitsu? You make it sound so simple!”_

_Frowning, Tezuka held his ground, kept his distance. This conversation was not a new one, but Tezuka had begun to wonder if perhaps keeping it alive was even more detrimental than simply ceasing to bring it up. “It is simple,” he said. “It’s you that makes it complicated, Keigo.”_

_He laughed, though Tezuka knew he found nothing amusing, and poured himself another scotch. It was the fourth he’d had in an hour. “Simple for you, I suppose.”_

_He paused – swallowed, winced – and resumed pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, Kunimitsu, you’re killing me. You’re draining me. You’re draining me just like he is, only you make it feel like something else because I want you so damned much.”_

_Want. Not Love. Tezuka had not overlooked the lack of distinction._

_“There’s more to this than you and me,” he added, searching for any excuse to make his avoidance acceptable. “I have more to think about…”_

_Tezuka nodded, let out the breath that he’d felt he’d been holding all evening, and straightened his shoulders. It was over and he knew it. It hadn’t needed to be said aloud and he saw no reason to draw out the inevitable._

_“…than me,” Tezuka finished for him, resigned. “Thank you for finally saying it.”_

_Tilting his head, Atobe parted his lips to protest, but Tezuka held up a hand to stall him. “I’ve never asked for more than you were capable of, Keigo. And you know that your future is as important to me as my own.”_

_“That’s not…,” Atobe attempted to interject, but Tezuka was already retrieving his coat._

_“It is,” he corrected. “I don’t need a public acknowledgement, Keigo – you know me better than that.”_

_Buttoning up his coat, he cast a final glance to the champagne flute on the table. The dark reds of the walls and the suffocating heat of the fireplace seemed a perfect accompaniment to that one, untouched glass. Tezuka watched a few last bubbles drift to the surface and he was gripped with the certainty that he would never see the inside of this room again. He knew it would have hurt more if he weren’t so tired – so numb._

_“What, then? What can I do to make this all right, ‘mitsu? I just can’t do what you’re suggesting I do.”_

_At the door, he sighed, wishing to allow himself the luxury of not looking at Atobe again. But Tezuka was not a coward – he would do as his scruples dictated that he must, for the sake of his own dignity._

_“I wouldn’t suggest anything at all to you, Keigo. I want a lover– not a showpiece.”_

_The walk down the long hallway of the Atobe mansion had seemed infinite. He hated the carpet, he hated the color scheme, he hated the muffled sound of the orchestral piece Atobe’s father so adored. He hated the decisions that he’d made and the way Atobe had let him down._

_But he didn’t hate himself. Not anymore._

 

+++

 

It was full dark when Tezuka slowly came awake. His belly was empty and his head was full of cobwebs and he felt like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in days. Faintly, even as he attempted to reacquaint himself with consciousness, he could hear the sound of running water in the next room and it wasn’t until he recognized the citrusy, sandalwood scent clinging to the pillow that the events of the day came rushing back to Tezuka.

 _Ohhh, shit_.

Shifting to one side, he gazed at the digital clock that he could not make out and wondered why he seemed so proficient in making bad decisions. His limbs felt heavy when he moved; he felt lazy and sated and entirely, inappropriately unconcerned with the gravity of the situation.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face, considered how much time he had to make his escape before Kite emerged from the bathroom. Feeling along the nightstand blindly, he felt better when his hands closed around a pair of glasses. It wasn’t until he was preparing to balance them on the bridge of his nose that he realized they weren’t his. Having no idea where the lamp was, Tezuka eased his fingertips across the table until he came into contact with what he sought. Exchanging his glasses for Kite’s was unsettling and somewhat symbolic, but Tezuka had no desire to dwell on any possible hidden meaning in so simple a mistake.

He stood – his legs were shaky and his ass was killing him – and winced when he realized that the wetness between his buttocks had not leaked out onto the bed sheets and was, instead, trickling along the back of his thigh. He had _not_ , as it happened, ever been ‘barebacked’ before.

Near the dresser, Tezuka bent to feel along the floor for his pants and underwear and he startled when the bathroom door opened to flood the room with light. Lifting one hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, Tezuka stood quickly, holding his wrinkled pants before him in an attempt to cover his nudity. He felt wet and stretched and dirty and while he wanted a shower in the worst way, he would have been satisfied to dress quickly and make an even hastier exit. Niceties were not Tezuka’s forte and he didn’t consider this sort of situation suitable for practice.

Leaning in the doorframe – the amount of steam rolling out behind him a fair testament to the lack of hot water Tezuka would be likely to find if, in fact, he did attempt to shower here – Kite glanced around, presumably to locate his errant bedmate.

“You’re awake,” he murmured. more to himself than to Tezuka, and when he emerged from the bathroom to move around the corner of the dresser, Tezuka froze.

It occurred to him that it made little sense to feel flustered by the sight of Kite with that indecently undersized towel swathed about his hips when he’d seen him quite naked only a few hours before, but Tezuka reasoned that since none of this made much sense, he had a good excuse.

Kite moved fast – Tezuka couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t expected it of him – and had his arms around Tezuka before he’d been able to step backward. His skin was damp and his hair was wet and he smelled faintly of toothpaste and whatever body wash he’d used in the shower. When he leaned in for a kiss, Tezuka turned his head, closing his eyes when Kite’s lips grazed his cheek, instead.

“Tezuka,” he said, his tone light and difficult to interpret. Tezuka shrugged lightly, though he didn’t seek to push Kite away.

“I should brush my teeth,” he offered weakly and Kite hummed thoughtfully when he turned Tezuka’s face with two fingers at his chin. Without a word, he tilted his head, pressed his lips to Tezuka’s and drew him in with nothing more than the feel of his lips – already parting against Tezuka’s in an effort to coax a similar reaction.

With Kite’s arms snug at his back and his mouth soft and warm against his own, it was entirely without thought that Tezuka rested his hands at Kite’s hips. Letting his pants drop to the floor again, Tezuka couldn’t quite resist the feel of Kite’s hipbones under his thumbs and he moaned, fingers light along the edge of the towel, when Kite nudged his chin up with his own and tilted his head again to deepen their kiss.

Slow, so slow and so careful – Kite was very, very good at this – and when he licked at the roof of Tezuka’s mouth, swallowing the small sound he made, Tezuka’s knees weakened.

After what felt like ten full minutes, Kite pulled back, one hand cupping Tezuka’s bottom when he lifted the other to touch his mouth and Tezuka sighed, unable to help himself.

“You think I should wait until you’ve brushed your teeth before I get a kiss, hm, Tezuka?”

Tezuka blushed, grateful for the shadow in which he stood, and ducked his head. “I don’t know.”

Kite rubbed his back, reassuring, possessive, and released him finally. “There are towels on the shelf in the bathroom. Go shower – I know you want to.”

Uncertain and uncomfortable, Tezuka nodded and turned to hide as much of his nudity as he could. Something about Kite’s proximity and the intimacy that he seemed to have no issue with made Tezuka feel like a lost child. He was certain he should hate it and wasn’t eager to dwell on why he didn’t.

“It’s late,” he said, feeling as though one of them should put the situation into some sort of perspective. “I should really go.”

Dragging a hand through his wet hair and only serving to accentuate that unfortunate cowlick that Tezuka had once assumed was merely his style of choice, Kite glanced at the clock. “It’s not late. It’s early.”

Tezuka’s stomach growled – loudly – and he wrapped both arms around his middle, glancing up apologetically. “Ah…”

Kite chuckled, barely a sound, and whipped the towel away from his waist to hang it on the dresser drawer’s handle. “You’re hungry. Go shower, Tezuka – take your time – I’ll make something to eat.”

“And then what?” Tezuka asked, hesitant. He needed to know – needed to hear – exactly where this was going. Honestly, this camaraderie with Kite Eishirou was something he certainly hadn’t been expecting when he’d agreed to accompany him home that afternoon. He’d assumed – reasonably – that they’d exchange a few pleasantries, go to bed together just long enough to take the edge off and then they would part ways without any false pretense toward an extended sort of contact.

Strangely enough, Kite didn’t seem eager to be rid of him – quite the contrary, actually – and his unexpected demeanor confused Tezuka and made him unsure, uneasy. Kite wasn’t reading from the script that Tezuka had intended to follow, himself, and he found himself treading on shaky ground.

It was a territory that Tezuka had not ventured into in quite some time. Even worse was that he did not _dislike_ it.

Kite shrugged, turning to retrieve clothing from one of the drawers behind him. “Whatever you want,” he said, shaking out a tank top and a pair of cotton pants. Tezuka did not miss the fact that he did not select any underwear. When he faced Tezuka again, mouth quirking in the barest shadow of a smile, Tezuka felt his stomach plummet only to surge forth again when he caught a glimpse of Kite’s white, even teeth. “We’ll open up a bottle of wine and talk about nothing until the sun comes up. We’ll have one hell of an early breakfast and you’ll let me feed you fresh fruit. I’ll whip your ass at chess and make it up to you with the best blow job you’ve ever had in your life.”

Sweeping him with a long, slow glance, Kite smiled when Tezuka’s blush became evident to him. “Or we’ll go back to bed and eat there and forget that we should be asleep, anyway.”

At that point, Tezuka’s blush had little to do with embarrassment and more to do with the way his heart was pounding inside his chest. Kite Eishirou took his breath. He wasn’t supposed to.

“You talk too much,” he finally groused, turning toward the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster.

Kite smiled when Tezuka closed the door and glanced toward the mirror, to the spot in which Rin’s picture hung. He couldn’t make out the details, but he knew the picture’s exact position and the expression in his once-lover’s eyes by heart. “No one else would think so,” he murmured.

 

+++

 

 

Kite’s bathroom was larger than Tezuka had anticipated that it would be. The sink was bereft of any toiletries and the towels were fluffy. The corner shelves in the shower held the necessities and nothing more. Sliding the door into place behind him, Tezuka tested the temperature of the water and, when he was satisfied, stepped directly under the spray. He bowed his head, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly when the pressure of the water helped soothe the tension across his shoulders and along the back of his neck. Here, alone in Kite’s shower – even surrounded by his scent as he was – Tezuka could relax and begin to put things into perspective.

Cautioning himself against over-analyzing the situation, Tezuka straightened finally, tipping his face up into the spray and slicking his hair back with both hands. He knew that Kite would give him all the space and all the privacy he wanted – he wasn’t the clingy, demanding type – though how he knew this he couldn’t have said. Something in the way of Kite’s demeanor, the way he didn’t push and, instead, simply assumed that his quarry would follow where he led, put Tezuka at ease.

 _It’s just sex. That’s all. Stop thinking about it_.

But he couldn’t help thinking about it – couldn’t help reliving the entire afternoon as he scrubbed himself with Kite’s shower sponge, with the plain, white soap that Kite used. As casual as he knew their interlude had been, Tezuka could admit to himself, if not to Kite, that it had been exactly what he’d needed. It had been months since he’d touched someone else. Months since someone else had touched him and though he still spoke to Atobe periodically, the emotional upheaval that each and every interaction brought did nothing to soothe the restlessness in him. He had not seen Atobe since he’d called a halt to their relationship and had berated himself for his inability to let go long enough to seek affection and friendship with anyone else. It was, to Tezuka, all too ironic that the first person to offer him solace after so many months of anguish was Kite Eishirou – an even greater rival than Atobe had ever been.

Even more curious was the proprietary manner in which Kite dealt with him. As receptive and attentive as Kite seemed to be, he was still somehow able to maintain just enough emotional distance to avoid putting Tezuka off. It occurred to Tezuka, though some part of him continued to doubt the intelligence of such a decision, that to relax and simply take things as they came was preferable to worrying himself over each minute detail. It seemed to work quite well for Atobe and, as far as Tezuka could ascertain, for Kite as well.

Turning off the shower spray, he reached for the towel slung over the door and took another deep, relaxing breath. After the mind-blowing sex and much-needed rest he’d had, he was beginning to feel completely untouchable – in the most self-sufficient, well-adjusted way imaginable. It had been a very long time since such peace of mind had been his.

He toweled off quickly, enjoying the humidity inside the room when he slid open the shower door again. There – on the counter – was a set of pajamas, pressed and folded, with a still-packaged toothbrush lying atop them.

The toothbrush was pink.

 

+++

 

Kite enjoyed cooking. He liked experimenting and trying new things and creating odd dishes out of hodgepodge ingredients. As he stood at the counter and sliced shiitake mushrooms, he allowed himself to reflect on the events of the evening – and then he wondered why he bothered to reflect on that which had already passed.

On a whim, he’d picked up Tezuka Kunimitsu, taken him home and fucked his brains out. And then he’d snuggled up close and taken a little nap with him. It still didn’t make much sense – no matter how he attempted to rationalize it – but Tezuka had felt good enough against him that Kite didn’t mind so much. Not in the habit of being avoidant, Kite didn’t mind admitting that a little afternoon delight with the finest ex-buchou in all of Japan – barring himself, naturally – had done wonders for the antsy, restless feeling that had plagued him since Rin had left. What bothered Kite – now that the sex was over – was the realization that he wanted Tezuka to stick around.

Setting the bowl of sliced mushrooms aside, Kite turned to notice Tezuka hovering in the doorway and he lifted his chin in casual greeting. Tezuka was clean and his hair was damp and messy and he looked positively delectable in Kite’s old pajamas.

“Feel better?”

Tezuka shrugged, wrapped his arms around his waist in a purely self-conscious gesture that Kite would have bet money he wasn’t aware of. If he were, he’d have done whatever necessary to curb that particular tendency.

“Better than what?”

With the faintest hint of a smile, Kite moved past him, wiping his hands on the tiny apron tied around his waist. He didn’t answer and, instead, retrieved a couple of containers from the small refrigerator and turned back toward the counter. In his peripheral vision, he watched Tezuka come into the room and glance around tentatively. Near the window was Kite’s only nod to dining room niceties – a small dining table surrounded by oversized, plush pillows. Situated snugly in the corner, lining the windows that overlooked the sidewalk and the river just beyond, the dining area was cozy and intimate, but like nothing Tezuka had ever seen before. It was eclectic and non-traditional – things that Tezuka usually did not ascribe to.

He padded over, kneeling beside the table to run a hand over one pillow, and glanced up at Kite again. “What are you making?”

“Shrimp balls,” was Kite’s immediate answer, and Tezuka frowned.

“All I see is mushrooms and tofu.”

And gouya, but Tezuka didn’t want to bring that up quite yet.

Humming thoughtfully, Kite held up a pineapple briefly before laying it down again. “You won’t know the difference, I promise.”

Frowning again, Tezuka sat down on the pillow, shifting in an attempt to lounge comfortably – or at least avoid rolling off the pillow and embarrassing himself – and failing miserably. “Hm. And gouya, too?”

“That’s not for eating,” Kite informed him evenly, breaking open the pineapple with a loud thunk. When Tezuka did not answer and, instead, seemed to retreat even further into himself, Kite glanced over, expression mild. “That was a joke.”

That Tezuka had not found it amusing was apparent and Kite felt obligated to put him at his ease, no matter that his first instinct was to continue until his guest began to fidget in earnest. Rin would have laughed and told him that he was an idiot. Tezuka wasn’t Rin.

“I caramelize the pineapple and gouya – blended, they are delicious. The mushrooms and tofu are actually much tastier than you might think.”

Tezuka nodded. “It’s rather late for so complicated a meal, I think,” and then, almost apologetically, he added, “you didn’t have to do this.”

Shrugging, Kite turned on the saucepan and wiped his hands again. Tezuka could not help noticing the way his biceps tightened when he moved and he took a firm grasp on his composure. It would not do to allow Kite to catch him ogling his bare arms. Likely he would be insufferably self-satisfied about it and would use such a weakness to his advantage. Shortly thereafter, though, Tezuka reminded himself that Kite was not Atobe and it was not fair to make assumptions or consider any conclusion foregone.

“You’re hungry. I’m hungry. It’s not a big deal.”

Parting his lips – preparing to initiate some conversation that might make their exchange a bit more familiar – Tezuka could only close them again when he realized that he nothing to say. Nothing, that is, that could not be considered rude given their acquaintance. He wondered if sex was intimacy enough that he should be able to speak of more private matters without fear of recrimination, but he realized that he would not appreciate Kite’s taking of personal liberties with him and so he imagined that he owed him that same courtesy.

“It’s 1:30 in the morning,” Tezuka reminded him quietly and Kite turned his head just enough to catch Tezuka’s gaze before turning back to the task at hand.

“Are you sleepy, then?”

Surprised to find that he was not, Tezuka shook his head, murmured, “No.”

“Neither am I. So it doesn’t matter what time of night it is if neither of us is interested in sleeping.”

After a moment of mutual silence, Kite turned, leaning against the counter and regarding Tezuka with that unsettling, direct gaze. “Tezuka.”

Tezuka glanced up, uneasy under such direct scrutiny. “Aa.”

“My previous offers still stand. We can do whatever you like.”

Coloring faintly as he remembered precisely what Kite’s previous offers had been, Tezuka nodded and turned to settle back against the wall. The pillow was soft and molded easily to his shape and his stomach growled again.

“I’m not sleepy,” he said again, as if that should be answer enough and – for Kite – it seemed that it was. He was surprisingly non-argumentative.

“Then I’m on the right track,” he answered.

Tezuka did not probe for further clarification or intent and Kite continued to work silently at the stove. Tezuka watched him unapologetically and occasionally rubbed his palms over the worn pajama pants he wore in an attempt to prevent his getting too distracted. Relaxed though Kite would have him believe their interlude to be, Tezuka couldn’t pretend he wasn’t feeling skittish and uncertain. He only hoped that Kite wasn’t as aware of it as Tezuka was, himself.

“Where do you keep the wine?” Tezuka asked, glancing around the small, neat kitchen. The five minutes spent sitting alone on the cushions was proof enough that sitting idly by while Kite worked only served to further his unsettled feeling.

Nodding in the direction of the cabinet to his left, Kite did not look at Tezuka. Glasses are just beneath.”

Rising gracefully, Tezuka crossed the floor – behind Kite – to peruse his selection. A past involvement with Atobe Keigo had brought with it a crash course in acceptable labels and how to judge which was superior without ever having to pop the cork.

Upon opening Kite’s cabinet, however, Tezuka realized that his selection would be quite easily made as Kite seemed to only have the one bottle. And the label was one that Tezuka did not recognize. He didn’t say a word about it, though, and was merely grateful that it was a white. Red wine gave Tezuka the worst sort of headache and, naturally, red had been the type Atobe preferred.

On the shelf below the bottle of wine were two plain, elegant goblets. They seemed to suit Kite, as he didn’t appear to prefer anything that was over-adorned or too obvious. Tezuka wondered if such a preference was any indication as to his taste his men. Given the events of the afternoon, Tezuka could only assume that it was.

Glancing over, he watched Kite stir the pineapple and shredded gouya and when he paused to level a spoonful of sugar, Tezuka regarded him curiously. “You’re health conscious enough to choose tofu over shrimp, but you’re going to dump half a cup of sugar into that pan?”

Arching a brow, Kite paused – spoon held suspended at such an angle that Tezuka could not imagine why the sugar did not spill into the pan, but told himself, wryly, that it probably knew better – and regarded Tezuka mildly.

“What if I said I simply liked tofu?”

Tezuka’s reply was immediate. “You’d be lying.”

Lips quirking in a smile, Kite tipped the spoon and began to stir the mixture slowly without taking his eyes off of Tezuka. “I suppose I can let you in on my little secret. It can’t hurt, after all.”

With the bottle of wine in one hand and the two glasses suspended from their fine, crystal stems in the other, Tezuka frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this. “Secret,” he repeated. It was not a question.

Kite nodded. “Aa. Secret.”

He paused, stirring again and turning the temperature down somewhat, and then continued. “I have an insatiable sweet tooth – I can’t seem to resist.”

Tezuka didn’t answer right away, certain that such a statement was bound to be a lead-in to some overtly sexual remark, but Kite fell silent again – seemingly focused on the caramelized sugar he stirred.

He had a sweet tooth. He couldn’t resist.

Tezuka moved past him again to kneel at the table. He set the goblets down and began to peel away the seal near the cork. He had no idea how to respond to Kite when he made small talk that was just this side of silly. Tezuka had never been very good at differentiating between the truth and making a joke, despite his own rather dry sense of humor.

Soon enough, Kite turned off the stovetop, arranged plates and bowls and – as an afterthought – opened a drawer nearby to retrieve a corkscrew. Laying it on the table wordlessly, he turned to fetch the dishes and a few paper napkins.

He met Tezuka’s eyes evenly when he moved around the table to lower himself onto an oversized cushion and smiled faintly when Tezuka tensed.

“I’m not going to bite, Tezuka,” he said, voice light, and Tezuka frowned, holding the bottle of wine between his side and his arm as he worked the cork loose.

“Don’t patronize me, Kite.”

His words only served to cause Kite’s smile to widen and Tezuka turned his attention to the wine, disgusted with himself for allowing Kite to bait him.

“Who’s patronizing? I just thought I should remind you, is all. You seemed not to want me sitting next to you.”

Popping the cork free and laying it on one of the napkins Kite brought to the table, Tezuka frowned. “We just had sex. It would be hypocritical of me to move away from you, now.”

Kite stretched idly, but sat at the table as attentively as Tezuka did. He was a silent for a moment, considering, before speaking again. “Some might say it would be a fairly wise decision, actually.”

Stiffening with indignation, Tezuka set the bottle of wine upon the table and fixed Kite with a hard look. “Some? Like you?” Tezuka had no problem imagining it of Kite – his method of acquiring bed partners was impromptu, to say the least. He was likely the type of man who never hung around for breakfast and never called for a second date.

Not that Tezuka cared, as he had no intention of becoming involved with anyone beyond a mutually beneficial physical arrangement. And that arrangement would not – he decided – involve Kite Eishirou in any way, shape or form.

Kite blinked, picking up the bottle to fill the goblets to about halfway before moving it out of arm’s reach. “I was referring to the people who have shared my bed before, actually.”

Tezuka’s skepticism was evident, but he hid it quickly behind his first sip of wine. It was delicious – crisp and light and not too sweet – Tezuka was surprised.

Falling silent, Kite spooned a couple of shrimp balls onto a plate before covering them with the pineapple/gouya/burnt sugar concoction. When he slid the plate toward Tezuka, his expression was serious. “This might come as something of a surprise to you, Tezuka, but I’ve been told that I can be incredibly emotionally unavailable.”

Tezuka waited for the punch line. It never came.

“Emotionally unavailable,” he repeated, waiting for Kite to pick up his own chopsticks before he began eating.

Kite nodded once. “Aa. Whatever that means.”

His tone was quite indicative of the fact that he knew precisely what it meant. It was clear to Tezuka, however, that he did not agree.

“I have also been accused as such,” he admitted, wishing that he had the words, could articulate how many times his self-preservation had been mistaken for disinterest. Kite would understand, though Tezuka doubted his ‘emotional unavailability’ stemmed from quite the same origin.

“You’ve recently ended a relationship,” Tezuka added, voice somewhat hesitant, and was surprised by Kite’s lack of outward reaction. He smiled faintly and nudged a shrimp ball with the tips of chopsticks before turning his wrist to separate the one he chose.

“ _I_ didn’t end anything.”

Tezuka didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to select a portion of the shrimp ball, even drenched with bittersweet as he knew it would be. He chewed carefully, expression giving nothing away when he met Kite’s gaze.

It was _delicious_.

Tezuka reflected on the last time someone had actually prepared a meal for him and he realized that it had been two full years. He’d stayed over at Oishi’s when he’d been visiting possible graduate schools and Oishi and Kikumaru had made enough food to feed ten people. Tezuka remembered eating until he’d been certain he would split at the seams in an attempt to avoid hurting his friend’s feelings. That had been the night Kikumaru had made mixed drinks and ended up drinking straight from the blender while Oishi and Tezuka shared a pot of black tea. In the end, Oishi had carried a very inebriated, incredibly outspoken Kikumaru to bed and joined Tezuka afterward for a long, much-needed reacquainting whereupon Tezuka had revealed more of himself and his relationship with Atobe than he ever had before – to anyone.

Oishi had hugged him, made him some decaffeinated tea and reminded him that Tezuka Kunimitsu was not a quitter. ‘And who would know that better than the smartest, best ex-fukubuchou in all of Tokyo?’ Oishi had asked, pretending that he didn’t notice Kikumaru snoring in the next room – and perhaps he _hadn’t_.

Tezuka had smiled, despite himself. He had smiled then as he was smiling now and it wasn’t until he realized Kite was sitting close – too close – and bending his head to nuzzle at Tezuka’s neck that he let the memory fade and he tensed, instinctively. Some part of him doubted that he possessed the ability to relax as completely as Kite seemed able to do.

As Atobe had always seemed able to do.

He tilted his head, though, because Kite’s lips were soft and light and because somehow, perhaps, Tezuka felt that he had something to prove to himself. He lay his chopsticks aside and kept perfectly still as he tried to anticipate Kite’s every move.

“You like it,” Kite murmured, nosing at Tezuka’s jaw and lifting his hand to offer him a bite from his own chopsticks. Tezuka wondered, briefly, as to whether Kite was referring to the dinner or to _himself_ and though he wasn’t entirely comfortable with allowing Kite to feed him like a child, he couldn’t quite focus on the reasons why it was so unacceptable when Kite breathed against his neck as he was.

He chewed obediently, even going so far as to lick at the tips of Kite’s chopsticks and he sucked in a breath when Kite stroked the side of his neck idly. “Don’t you?” he prompted, and Tezuka could only nod. He could not speak.

“So tell me, Tezuka,” Kite began, voice a low whisper at Tezuka’s ear. “What’s it going to be?”

Tezuka shook his head once, eyelashes fluttering when Kite kissed his neck. He was probably leaving traces of sugar at Tezuka’s neck for the sole purpose of licking it off again, later.

“Be?”

“Mm,” Kite responded, laying the chopsticks aside – just over Tezuka’s – to slide the other hand into the back of his damp, tousled hair. “Talking? Chess? Or…”

Distracted as Tezuka was, he remembered well enough what the third option had been when Kite had spoken of them earlier. He blushed, but had absolutely no intention of allowing Kite Eishirou to intimidate him.

“Dinner,” he murmured, tilting his head to encourage Kite’s attentions even as he picked up his chopsticks again. The gouya really wasn’t all that bad. Not when Kite had seen fit to drown it in sugar and pineapple juice. “And then…”

He trailed off, then, assuming that to speak the obvious was highly unnecessary when Kite would undoubtedly draw the only conclusion that he felt was acceptable, in any event. He hadn’t counted on Kite’s propensity to bait him, though, of course, he should have.

“Then?” Kite prompted, voice low, intimate.

Tezuka breathed a little sigh, suppressing a shiver. Kite was warm against him – he smelled like soap and pineapple and Tezuka told himself, again, that he would not allow this man to intimidate him. “Then, perhaps a blow job.”

Kite pressed his mouth to the curve of Tezuka’s neck and let his hand slide down his back. Tezuka popped another shrimp ball into his mouth.

He could feel Kite’s smile.

 


	3. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

  


  
**letting the cables sleep**  
chapter three

 

With the sweetness at his lips and Kite’s solid warmth against him, Tezuka attempted to recall a time when so simple a situation had, so quickly, become an almost total sensory overload. Hundreds of memories – thousands – that he could call in an instant and it was with the sobering realization that nothing he could remember could rival his current state of mind.

He was hungry, still a bit shy despite the closeness Kite seemed to take for granted and nearly one hundred percent certain that he should have left hours ago. Yet, here he was, seated at Kite Eishirou’s table, his mind alive with disquiet and his nerves tied in knots.

And still Kite pressed close against him.

After a moment, when Tezuka had swallowed the bite he’d taken and Kite still showed no indication that he intended to move, he draped one arm over Kite’s shoulder in order to better reach his plate. In response, Kite rubbed his lips over the bit of shoulder that his t-shirt bared. “How is it?” he asked, nipping at Tezuka’s neck and slipping his hand beneath the t-shirt to touch his back.

Tezuka grunted, leaning forward to steal one of the shrimp balls left unattended on Kite’s plate. “You know it’s good. And I’m eating yours.”

Kite hummed thoughtfully against Tezuka’s ear and slid his hand up along his back. “Save me a bite.”

In answer, Tezuka merely hooked his arm around Kite’s neck to push the entire shrimp ball into his mouth. “Mm.”

Kite laughed silently – Tezuka felt his shoulders shaking when he reached for his glass of wine.

He sipped slowly and only barely resisted the urge to slide his fingers through the back of Kite’s hair. This was not romance – this was not friendship. Tezuka didn’t know what it was, but it was easy enough to admit that this thing – whatever name he hung on it later – dulled the ache in his heart.

“You know, Tezuka,” Kite began, fingertips light along the ridges of his spine, “You’re not the priss I thought you’d be.”

When Tezuka did not answer immediately, Kite rubbed his cheek against Tezuka’s ear – as though in an attempt to mark him – and continued, “It’s not often that I’m wrong about someone.”

 

Tezuka frowned, swiping a shrimp ball into the sweet sauce pooling around it before taking a smaller bite. Having taken the edge off his hunger, he reached for a napkin and wiped his mouth efficiently.

“That’s interesting, actually,” he said, shifting to allow just enough space between them that he might meet Kite’s eyes.

Arching a brow, Kite stared back. “Oh?”

“Aa,” Tezuka confirmed. “You are precisely the same pompous, overbearing ass that I remember.”

At the nearly comical expression on Kite’s face, Tezuka shrugged. “It’s not often that I’m wrong about someone, either.”

Kite blinked. “That’s not fair,” he protested. “Not very nice, either, Tezuka. I may have to reconsider my previous – obviously premature – assessment of you.”

Lips pursed, Tezuka reached past Kite for his wineglass. “Since when did you play fair, Kite Eishirou?”

Halting Tezuka’s range of movement with a tight grip at his wrist, Kite tugged him close – held him still. To his delight, Tezuka did not give an inch and, further still, narrowed his eyes even went so far as to lift his chin in blatant challenge. “Come to that, you were never very nice, either.”

Reflexes quicker than Tezuka was able to anticipate, Kite grabbed his other wrist and turned him, pushing him back among the cushions and straddling his thighs. He pinned those fine-boned, almost delicate wrists over Tezuka’s head and trapped his legs snugly between his knees. Wicked and sinister and completely without hesitation, Kite offered Tezuka that familiar, infuriating smirk and lifted one hand to his lips to brush his mouth over Tezuka’s wrist.

“This isn’t nice?” he asked, voice low. “I can be nicer.”

Holding himself perfectly still, Tezuka stared up at Kite, his breathing already beginning to quicken. “I thought you were hungry,” he said, absently.

Lowering Tezuka’s hand to press his palm tight against his cock, Kite bit his lip, sucking in a breath when Tezuka’s fingers curled around him. “Don’t I feel hungry?”

Wondering if there were ever a time when Kite was _not_ ‘hungry’, Tezuka found that he had no ready reply. No matter the banter between them – the cautious, electric pull – Tezuka was no better with small talk now than he was when he’d first walked through Kite’s front door.

Pushing Tezuka’s t-shirt up to reveal his belly, his chest, his pretty, pale nipples, Kite released his hold on Tezuka’s wrist and bent to nuzzle his bellybutton. Tezuka tensed, letting his eyes close instinctively.

“We never knew each other that well, Tezuka,” he murmured, fingertips edging beneath the waistband of Tezuka’s pants.

Sucking in a breath, belly concave when Kite touched him, Tezuka arched his back just enough to indicate to Kite that he was quite finished with dinner. “We don’t know each other _now_.”

That Tezuka knew Kite about as well as anyone else wasn’t something he felt needed to be said – particularly when Tezuka was so ready beneath him.

He was slow to ease the loose, cotton pants over Tezuka’s hips, rubbing his cheek against Tezuka’s hip. Seemingly content to touch and tease, Kite held Tezuka’s gaze, knowing that – despite the hint of color at Tezuka’s cheeks – he wouldn’t look away first. That knowledge – that certainty that Tezuka cared more for his dignity than for the heat of the moment – was what made touching him such an incredible accomplishment. Particularly considering that Kite could define himself in the heat of a very good moment.

And this moment, with Tezuka’s guarded expression and tentative contact, was one that Kite felt quite comfortable losing himself in.

Easing the pants down Tezuka’s legs, Kite waited until Tezuka kicked them away from his feet before lifting one leg to drape it over his shoulder. On his belly now, between Tezuka’s legs, Kite nuzzled at the inside of his thigh and at the soft, warm juncture of groin and hip.

With one arm over his forehead and his other hand clenched to avoid its stealing into Kite’s hair to touch him affectionately, Tezuka took a deep breath. He wasn’t hungry any longer – and he was embarrassed at precisely how eager he was for Kite’s attentions. Earlier, when Kite had wrapped his lips around Tezuka’s cock to tease him, it hadn’t been enough. Now, though, with Kite nuzzling his balls with soft lips and the tip of his nose, Tezuka imagined that this interlude might turn out to be something a little more focused and extended.

“Eishirou,” he breathed, more to himself than in any real attempt to gain Kite’s attention, and the response he received was nothing more than Kite’s soft murmur of assent when he pressed his nose against the wiry curls at Tezuka’s groin and inhaled.

Kite turned his head, rubbing his cheek against Tezuka’s pubic hair when he wrapped his fingers around Tezuka’s cock. “Keep baiting me, Tezuka. Soon I’ll be whispering _your_ name.”

Tezuka squeezed his eyes closed tightly when Kite rubbed his lips over the tip of his cock and didn’t acknowledge Kite’s words at all. When Kite pushed against the back of his thigh, Tezuka exhaled, knowing already that his name on Kite’s lips – in that voice – would be quite a perfect accompaniment to the pleasure he was about to offer. It was, however, hardly something that Tezuka felt he could encourage. This interlude would be fleeting, brief, singular. And Tezuka wasn’t at all certain that he wanted to hear his name on another man’s lips for a very long time. Even so, with Kite touching him so carefully yet so purposefully, Tezuka wondered if that time would come sooner than he was willing to imagine.

“You smell good,” Kite told him, stroking him once or twice and swiping the very tip of his erection with the flat of his tongue. “Very, very good.”

Tezuka shivered, bending one knee so that his foot was flat against the floor and he shifted, restless and wanting. “You would think so,” he panted, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I used _your_ soap in the shower.”

Kite chuckled, the lenses of his glasses catching the light when he ducked his head to slide his lips along Tezuka’s cock, taking him in smoothly, completely and easing the way with nothing more than the flat of his tongue and just the perfect amount of pressure. Voice breaking on the sound he made, Tezuka flexed his hips, palms flat against the cushions he lay on.

Kite took his time, sucking and licking and making those soft, satisfied little sounds as though this were something he truly relished. When his nose was buried in the curls at the base of Tezuka’s dick, Kite released his hold on him to touch and caress him. He gripped his hips firmly, tracing the edge of his hipbones with his thumbs before sliding his hands under Tezuka’s bottom to hold him still. He squeezed him once, when he pulled back only to take him deep inside again and Tezuka tensed, a rough, surprised sound escaping him when he nudged the back of Kite’s throat.

No stranger to oral sex, Tezuka could remember countless times he and Atobe had passed an evening pleasuring one another this way. There was no way to compare the two, however – Keigo and Kite – they were different people, had very different styles and different desires. When he’d made love with Keigo this way, it had been very much a mutual act. Keigo needed Tezuka’s reciprocal attention in order to lose himself in sex. If he were receiving no pleasure, it wasn’t as easy for him to give pleasure.

That was not to say that he’d found no pleasure with Keigo – quite the contrary. When he and Keigo put aside the rest of the world and came together with all of the passion and all of the desperation that they had felt in the beginning of the relationship, Tezuka would have sworn that nothing else could have felt even half so good.

Now, however, on the receiving end of something so entirely consuming, Tezuka could more easily understand the differences between his old lover and this new one. Kite was a predator – he liked to be in control. He enjoyed having the upper hand, even as he sought someone who would push back. He derived pleasure from giving it – without needing to take any for himself. The way he attended Tezuka, pushed and teased and otherwise overwhelmed him just for the sole purpose of making him capitulate spoke volumes about his character. Kite could lose himself in the act knowing that he was driving his partner right out of his mind. He didn’t require anything more as he would likely take whatever he needed after he’d pushed Tezuka over the edge. He wouldn’t wait for Tezuka to touch him first.

“God,” he moaned, grabbing handfuls of the cushion beneath him and attempting to avoid thrusting forward.

Kite grunted in answer and squeezed his buttocks, spreading him open and kneading him and Tezuka sucked in a breath when a thin trail of saliva slid along the crack of his ass in a slow, slippery path. Kite lifted him, swallowing him, his throat tight around the crown of Tezuka’s cock and he cried out, unable to hold back. Never had anyone offered him this level of intensity in so simple an act and Tezuka tensed, muscles pulled taut when Kite sucked him, tongued him. Heart pounding, he ran one hand under his shirt, over his belly, hesitating for a moment even when he knew that he would have to touch Kite soon. He was hot between Tezuka’s legs and he could feel his pulse thrumming in his neck – just against Tezuka’s inner thigh. Tezuka could feel his own heartbeat, heavy and pounding and he would swear that his heartbeat and Kite’s heartbeat beat a perfect counter – meeting at once to pulse heavily between his legs.

He wasn’t going to last – despite the orgasm he’d had already – and the constant observer in Tezuka fell silent when he slipped his fingers into the back of Kite’s hair to arch his back in silent warning.

“Ah, Kite,” he murmured, spreading his legs, his balls full and tight at the base of his cock when Kite squeezed his buttocks and pulled back to lick and suck at him. “Eishirou,” he said, entire body tensed and at the ready. “Eishirou, I…”

Lips tight around the head of his dick, Kite slid the edge of his thumb between Tezuka’s buttocks, pressing in gently to rub him in a slow, practiced motion.

And Tezuka sucked in a breath, belly tightening when his cock jerked to pulse hot and thick over Kite’s tongue. He might have screamed, if he’d been able to catch his breath long enough to make a single, coherent sound, and he winced at the sudden, cool air against his dick when Kite rose above him. He pinned Tezuka’s wrists over his head and met his eyes for one, electric moment before he closed his eyes and took Tezuka’s mouth in a hot, deep kiss. Tezuka murmured in protest when Kite pushed his tongue between his lips, sharing Tezuka’s release – thick and barely warm – in a slow, sticky sort of kiss.

When Kite pulled back, lips slick and salty, he licked at Tezuka’s mouth, hesitating for only a moment before offering yet another kiss. This kiss was lingering, soft, lazy – redolent of the taste of Tezuka’s release – and he could do no more than cling to Kite’s shoulders and accept his kisses when Kite released his wrists to slide his hands down Tezuka’s arms.

Without breaking contact, Kite removed Tezuka’s glasses, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs and touching his hair, and Tezuka reached up blindly to ease Kite’s glasses away from his face. He pressed them into Kite’s hand, fingers lingering over his knuckles only to tangle his hand in the back of Kite’s hair as he lay their glasses aside.

Tezuka didn’t offer anything on the subject of his utter satisfaction, he didn’t praise Kite’s skill or technique and he didn’t ask if Kite wanted him to return the favor. All that Tezuka did – all that he wanted to do – was to lay against him and take kiss after hot, drugging kiss from his lips.

After a moment, Kite ran one hand along the length of Tezuka’s body and murmured against his ear, “I don’t think I’m going to ever get enough of you, Tezuka.”

Tezuka didn’t answer – he didn’t expect that Kite actually anticipated that he might – and instead, turned his head to press his lips to Kite’s neck. When the sun rose, he knew, they would go their separate ways and Tezuka would go on with his life. The life he’d been attempting to piece back together before Kite Eishirou had strong-armed his way inside and usurped every bit of excess space that Tezuka had managed to gain in the past few months.

Romantic notions didn’t bring about any happy endings. Tezuka had learned that the hard way.

He shifted, wrapping his arms around Kite to rest his hands against his back and he could not ignore Kite’s erection, insistent against his hip. When Kite made no move to rub against him, did nothing to suggest that he would like Tezuka to reciprocate, Tezuka murmured against his shoulder. “You’re hard, now, too.”

So close – and without his glasses – Kite looked different to Tezuka. His expression was calm and his eyes were dark and quite entrancing. He was a beautiful man; beautiful in a way that Tezuka had never considered beautiful before. Kite smoothed Tezuka’s hair back and framed his face with both hands again.

“I got hard again the minute I saw you in the doorway,” he said, nuzzling the corner of Tezuka’s mouth. “Standing there, wearing my clothes with your hair all tousled and wet – you looked so clean and composed.”

Tezuka licked his lips absently and Kite kissed him again – light and quick. “But I remembered how you looked, half out of your mind with lust and spreading your legs for me in my bed and I could barely keep my hands off of you, Tezuka.”

Lips parted, Tezuka lifted his chin, silently encouraging another kiss if Kite were so inclined to offer him one, and he slid his hands along Kite’s back to curve lightly over the swell of his ass.

Kite smiled a little and it was nothing of the cajoling, polite sort of smile that Tezuka had become so used to in the past. Kite’s smile spoke nothing of pleasantries. “Will you let me fuck you again?”

Silent for a moment, staring intently into Kite’s eyes as he considered all that he might do – all that he might allow – Tezuka squeezed Kite’s buttocks as Kite had done to him previously and experienced a hot, immediate satisfaction when Kite closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. “God, Tezuka,” he whispered, breath warm against Tezuka’s mouth. “I want to be inside you again.”

Tezuka hedged, nudging Kite’s chin up to rub his mouth against his neck. He wasn’t averse to another round, though he didn’t know how easily he would be able to accept it.

Sensing his hesitation, Kite nibbled at Tezuka’s earlobe and rose on one elbow to pinch one of Tezuka’s nipples. Tezuka sucked in a breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Kite promised, plucking at Tezuka’s nipple and tracing the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue. “Trust me. I’ll be careful.”

Despite the orgasm he’d just had – despite the knowledge that he should be thinking about returning home – Tezuka found himself nodding his acquiescence and turning his head to kiss Kite’s mouth. He’d never – not ever – felt quite so eager to initiate contact with anyone the way he seemed so eager to do with Kite.

“It hurts a little,” he said, and Kite rose to all fours above him, touching his side, his hip.

“We’ll stop if it hurts,” Kite told him, moving away to kneel at Tezuka’s side. “Do you want to try?”

Confused – unsure as to why Kite moved away – Tezuka sat up slowly and nodded. “We can try.”

Turning to toss two pillows against the wall and the window just above it, Kite leaned to snag a glass bottle from the table before moving in the direction of the window. Tezuka watched him set the bottle in the windowsill and get to his feet gracefully. He lifted his tank top, tossing it aside before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of the pants he wore. “Tezuka,” he said. “Kill the lights.”

Rising, stripping off his own t-shirt and unconscious of his nudity now as he had not been before, Tezuka crossed the floor to flip the switch on the far wall. The room was dark now and Kite – shucking off his pants – was bathed in the moonlight that flooded the small alcove. In profile, he was even more magnificent to see and Tezuka drifted toward him, trance-like.

Kite reached for him, fingers closing around Tezuka’s hand to pull him close, and he wrapped his arms around Tezuka to hold him even closer. “They can see us from the street, you know,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Standing in the window, touching each other. They can see me touching you.”

Tezuka’s heartbeat quickened and he reached between them to brush Kite’s cock with the back of his hand. It twitched and Kite sucked in a breath. “Don’t you care?” he asked.

Pausing for a moment, touching Kite’s side, his back, the full curve of his buttocks, Tezuka kissed his neck, breathing in his scent. “No,” he finally answered, realizing that he didn’t care and he didn’t want to stop and he very much wanted to feel Kite inside him again.

Kite turned, fingers twining through Tezuka’s as he led him toward the window and when he lowered himself onto the cushions and leaned back against the windowsill, he stared up at Tezuka. For a moment Tezuka stood where he was, gazing down at Kite in the near darkness and when he looked away to take in the night and the empty sidewalk just beyond the window, Kite reached for him again. “It’s just you and me, then?”

Tezuka knelt, straddling Kite’s thighs and resting his hands at Kite’s shoulders. “You knew that it was.”

Kite smiled, stroking the curve of Tezuka’s shoulder and the firm, smooth sinew of his arm. “I suppose it’s a little late for people to be out, after all.”

When Tezuka did not respond, Kite gripped his hip lightly. “This isn’t Tokyo.”

Tezuka frowned, as though he didn’t appreciate the reminder. It was unnecessary.

He touched Kite’s chest, his biceps, his collarbones, and allowed Kite to coax him closer. When Kite reached for the bottle of oil in the windowsill, Tezuka touched his cock, tentatively, paying closer attention now than he had before. His touch was light, exploratory, and he traced the shape of Kite’s dick almost thoughtfully. Kite was bigger than he was, himself. He was thick, heavy, uncircumcised. Tezuka stroked him slowly, gripping him at the base to reveal the full, dark tip of his cock.

Kite startled him when he took his hand away, turning it palm up to pour a bit of oil into the palm of his hand. “I’m safe,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “This is okay to use.”

Tezuka shook his head, as though to deny that he would insinuate otherwise. It occurred to him, then, that he should offer a similar assurance. “So am I. I’m not worried.”

Kite hissed when Tezuka gripped him firmly, slicking his cock as thoroughly as he was able. “You trust me that much, Tezuka? That surprises me.”

Tezuka shook his head, small smile quirking his lips. Kite knew well enough that Tezuka trusted him on some level, else they’d never have gone to bed together. He reached further down, coating Kite’s balls with the excess oil before rising to his knees to position himself. With one hand at the base of Kite’s cock and the other resting at Kite’s shoulder, Tezuka took a deep breath. “You might throw dirt in my face when things get out of control, but I don’t think you’d risk my life.”

Eyelashes fluttering once, Kite lay his hand over Tezuka’s, helping to guide him when he felt the tip of his cock nudge between Tezuka’s buttocks. “That was low,” he said, wrapping both arms around Tezuka’s waist when he began to push inside him.

Following suit, Tezuka wrapped his arms around Kite’s shoulders and tightened his thighs against Kite’s when he finally gained a few inches inside him. He took a shaky breath, already aware of the thin layer of sweat at his temples and under his arms. “Truth hurts,” he breathed, grunting when Kite slid into him.

Seated completely within him, Kite held him still for a moment, rubbing his lower back in slow circles to give him time to adjust. “Still with me?” he asked, banter forgotten in the way Tezuka panted for breath.

Nodding, Tezuka shifted, moving tentatively, and his lips parted on a silent exhalation when Kite gripped his buttocks to surge upward – just once.

Holding on tightly, Kite pressed his face against Tezuka’s chest and waited for him to feel comfortable enough to move on his own. “So good, Tezuka,” he murmured, words muffled against Tezuka’s skin. They’d used quite a bit of oil and his thighs were slick against Tezuka’s bottom. “Just like before.”

The tone of his voice suggested that he was merely having his suspicions confirmed by having Tezuka again and Tezuka realized that he’d obviously harbored expectations regarding a repeat performance where Tezuka had not. He nodded his agreement, though, unwilling to speak and risk breaking his concentration – the atmosphere – and what was between them. He was overwhelmed, again, and it was wonderful and terrifying and not at all the sort of emotion he should allow himself to explore.

“Ride me,” Kite whispered, lips hot at Tezuka’s left nipple. “Make me come, Tezuka,”

Tezuka moved, tightening around Kite’s cock when he lifted himself only to ease down onto him again. Kite groaned, holding himself still by sheer force of will when all he really wanted to do was to tip Tezuka onto his back, spread those legs wide and fuck him until neither of them could move anymore. He realized, though – with no small amount of surprise – that he enjoyed Tezuka’s hesitant, careful rhythm. He liked the way Tezuka wound his arms around him, moved against him, urged him toward completion. His tentative desire was so completely unlike anything Kite had ever experienced during sex that he couldn’t help the odd, protective feelings Tezuka roused in him. It had been quite some time since he’d found another man so capable and worthy of his respect and yet still so endearing and intriguing.

He rubbed Tezuka’s cock, swallowing the immediate, hissing sound that he made. He was not hard – he was over-sensitive – but Kite touched him anyway. While he wasn’t surprised that Tezuka was not erect, neither did he want to continue if what they were doing made Tezuka uncomfortable.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, palms sliding up Tezuka’s back as he moved on him, and Tezuka shook his head, buried his face in the curve of Kite’s neck.

“No,” he breathed. “You feel good. I just don’t think I can come again.”

Kite understood. He’d suspected as much and, under no obligation to see Tezuka sated before he could find his own release, Kite tipped his chin up for more kisses. He would hold Tezuka close, kiss his mouth to let him know how much he enjoyed his proximity, and cross the finish line just as quickly as he wanted to.

“Kiss me, then. Kiss me until I get there.”

Lowering his head, Tezuka offered Kite the sort of kiss that Kite seemed to like best – slow and deep and just as overtly sexual as his every, single move. He tightened around him, gasped when Kite swelled in response, and hummed his approval when Kite gripped his ass to help speed things along. It hurt – Tezuka was still sore and sensitive from earlier – but Kite was so hot and so full inside him that Tezuka could find enjoyment in that even if he were too over-stimulated to find release himself.

Sliding both hands into Kite’s hair, Tezuka held on tight, unable to prevent the little grunting sounds he made each time Kite pushed inside him. It was beyond uncomfortable and Tezuka knew he was going to be in agony when he awoke tomorrow, but it had been months since he’d felt so involved – so alive – in anything.

Kite groaned, as though merely voicing his pleasure sapped his strength, and his fingers tightened at Tezuka’s hips. “You ready, Tezuka?”

Tezuka hummed in response, nudging his cheek with the tip of his nose and Kite sighed.

“Don’t stop – Oh, _God_ , Tezuka - I’m gonna come.”

Tezuka did not stop and, when he felt Kite’s cock swell within him, he held him in place and kissed him again. Possessive, the way Kite wanted it – deep, hard, mindless.

After a few seconds, during which Kite felt he were being held suspended just over the edge of something infinite and all-encompassing, he tensed, muffling his pleasure against Tezuka’s mouth when he pushed completely within him and came for what seemed like a full minute. Throughout it all, Tezuka clung to him, clenching tight around him and sucking at his tongue, tensing instinctively when Kite jerked to pulse repeatedly inside him.

Soon, Kite softened within him and winced when he slipped out of the tight, welcoming heat of Tezuka’s body. He sucked in a breath, shivering in Tezuka’s embrace, and rested his forehead against Tezuka’s shoulder while they sat quietly together to catch their breath.

Tezuka’s skin cooled and, after a few moments, Kite realized that he was beginning to get cold. Brushing his lips against Tezuka’s shoulder, Kite squeezed him once before patting his thigh. “Hop up. I’ll go get a blanket.”

Tezuka shifted, grunting his discomfort when he moved, and sat back on his haunches. “We can just go to bed, Eishirou.”

He was tired, now, Kite could hear it in his voice, and he shook his head. “I haven’t changed the sheets. We’ll be comfortable here – you’ll prefer it, I think.”

Without waiting to hear Tezuka’s protest – whether he’d intended to offer one or not – Kite rose to his feet and headed in the direction of the bedroom. Tezuka watched him go and then moved to stack their dishes and carry them to the small sink. He ran water over them for a few minutes, feeling as though he should at least tidy up the kitchen since Kite had prepared the food, but his sudden fatigue dictated otherwise. Besides that, he knew that Kite had absolutely no intention of cleaning anything – he couldn’t even be bothered to change the sheets on his bed – and that he would insist that Tezuka join him on the pile of cushions at the window. If Tezuka were going to be completely honest, he would admit that the idea appealed to him.

Entering the kitchen again – armed with two more pillows and the quilt from his bed, Kite nodded toward the pillows on the floor. “I’ll get that tomorrow, Tezuka. Come and lie down with me.”

Tezuka smiled to himself, amused that he could so accurately anticipate this man’s intentions and desires. It was strange, but it was not as unsettling as Tezuka had imagined that it might be.

When he’d knelt beside Kite on the cushions, shifting close and allowing Kite to wrap the blanket around the two of them, Tezuka stretched out beside him to rest his head on Kite’s chest.

Kite held him snugly, breathing hot into Tezuka’s hair when they settled against one another and when Tezuka finally closed his eyes, he realized that Kite hadn’t said a word, perhaps anticipating that Tezuka would not want to talk. He wondered if he’d been wrong and, somehow, they knew each other better than Tezuka had been willing to consider.

When Kite’s breathing grew deep and even against him, Tezuka exhaled slowly and felt all the tension slowly leave him.

It wasn’t that important, really. He was still leaving tomorrow.

_Today. ___

 


	4. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Drifting just on the edges of sleep – warm, drowsy, comfortable – Tezuka turned instinctively toward the warmth at his side and tugged the blanket over his face to block out the pale morning sunlight. He could hear, distantly, his mobile ringing no more than twenty feet away and as the hazy remnants of sleep dissipated, Tezuka knew that he wouldn’t get to it in time.

Stretching slowly, he draped his arm over Kite’s waist and mumbled unintelligibly against his chest. In response, Kite turned toward him to wrap both arms around him and snuggle him close. While he didn’t speak to indicate that he was awake, Tezuka couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t when he nosed into Tezuka’s hair and hummed sleepily.

Still as stone and about as lively, Tezuka glanced up to take in the smooth column of Kite’s throat and the sharp line of his jaw. His phone continued to ring.

“Kite,” he murmured, palms flat on the other man’s chest. “Kite, wake up.”

Barely audible, Kite murmured and pulled him closer to slip one leg between both of Tezuka’s. He nuzzled Tezuka’s ear, his neck, and muffled soft, drowsy sounds against his hair.

“Eishirou,” he tried again, a bit more commanding this time. He shoved at him gently, not wanting to throw Kite off and cause him to crack his skull on the windowsill. “Eishirou, move – my mobile is ringing.”

“Call ‘em back later,” was Kite’s response, sliding his hands along Tezuka’s back and rubbing his thigh between Tezuka’s legs. “Sleepin’.”

Tezuka sighed, rising on one elbow to disentangle himself from Kite’s embrace. “I’m awake and so are you. Now move.”

Grumbling, Kite rolled to his back, tugging the blanket up and over his head. “It’s too early.”

Tezuka sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. He couldn’t see the clock without his glasses, but he would have been willing to bet that it was nearly eight a.m. – if it weren’t already. “It’s not early,” he said, flatly. “It’s late.”

Snorting in amusement, Kite turned again – back facing Tezuka – and then grew still. “Touché.”

Crawling out from beneath the blanket, Tezuka shivered – the floor was cold – and got to his feet slowly, stiffly. Glancing around, bleary-eyed and graceless, Tezuka attempted to locate his clothing without benefit of his glasses and it wasn’t until it dawned on him that he was standing bare-assed in front of an un-shaded window that he moved quickly. The sound of dismay that he made upon realizing that people could see him from the street was met with still more muffled amusement from beneath the blanket and Tezuka nudged Kite with his toes before bending to retrieve his clothing.

As he dressed, silently, efficiently, Kite spoke.

“It’s a little early for the phone to ring, don’t you think so?”

Tezuka hummed an acknowledgement, but declined to elaborate or to engage Kite in conversation regarding the phone calls he received and what time of day was acceptable versus not acceptable. Kite, however, was not so easily put off.

“It must not have been very important. They didn’t call back.”

“Aa,” Tezuka said, putting on his glasses and smoothing his hair down a bit.

When Kite did not respond, Tezuka experienced a brief moment of satisfaction at having shut him up and stood silently for a moment, taking in the sight of the Kite-shaped blanket lump. All of this – this banter, this small talk, this lingering moment – was no more than a prelude to the inevitable. There really wasn’t a decision that needed to be made - he would exchange Kite’s clothing for his own and then he would say goodbye.

“Tezuka,” Kite said, finally, tugging the blanket away from his face and leaning up on one elbow.

Turning, half-dressed and looking so delightfully sleep-rumpled that Kite very nearly rose for the sole purpose of dragging his new lover back to their makeshift bed, Tezuka regarded him solemnly. That he enjoyed looking at Kite was not something that he seemed interested in hiding. It gave Kite some small measure of comfort, though he’d never liken it to expectance or even hope – such was not the nature of their interaction.

“Did you want to shower?”

With an immediate, polite decline just on the tip of his tongue, Tezuka hesitated. He _did_ want to shower. He felt dirty and uncomfortable, sore and _wet_. “Would you mind if I bathed, instead?’ He sounded awkward when he spoke – bashful and hesitant despite their intimacy – and Kite found that he could only stare at him for a few moments. He felt as though something had been left unsaid, though, of course, there was truly nothing to say.

“Of course not. Help yourself – you know where everything is – and I’ll straighten up in here.”

Tezuka nodded, though he’d intended to offer his assistance in tidying up the kitchen and the place where they’d slept. It occurred to him, as he turned away, that he and Kite had held one another – shared kisses and heat and unusually good sex – in the very place that Kite sat down for dinner each night. Likely he entertained at that table, on those cushions and with a sharp spike of some emotion that Tezuka would never call jealousy, he wondered how many others Kite had lain with in the dark. On those pillows. But he didn’t ask.

He could hear Kite behind him, slipping on his pants and standing to stretch his arms over his head, but Tezuka didn’t look back, he wasn’t certain he wanted to test his own self-discipline any further.

“I won’t be long,” he said, and disappeared into the bedroom.

Kite watched him leave and stretched again, rotating his shoulders and stretching the muscles in his back. Sleeping in one position all night, with the weight of another person plastered against him, had made his muscles stiff and sore. He thought about the day stretching out before him and considered a jog along the river or perhaps a visit to the gym he frequented.

Or maybe he’d lounge around the apartment, call his mother and studiously dodge any questions she asked him about _Rin-chan_ or school. Paramount in Kite’s mind, as he moved to rinse dishes and wipe the countertops, was that Tezuka seemed eager to make his escape and appeared to have absolutely no intention of offering his phone number to Kite.

He frowned, drying his hands on a ratty towel and draping it over the oven’s handle as he snuck a glance at the messenger bag leaning against the far wall. Tezuka’s phone was hidden away in that bag and – since Tezuka was not in the room and unable to protest Kite’s violation of his privacy – Kite reminded himself that such fortuitous opportunities rarely presented themselves twice.

He stood over the bag, staring at it for a moment, thinking about how it suited Tezuka and wondering what sorts of things he carried inside it. After a moment, when Tezuka turned off the water in the bathroom and Kite felt it was safe to assume that he’d already begun to ease into the tub, he knelt before the bag to touch the front flap. Fingers tracing the buckle and the smart leather strap that ran along the edge, Kite glanced over his shoulder once before lifting the bag’s flap to reach inside. There was a book, a small steno pad, a couple of pens and a small key ring. He didn’t open the bag to peer inside, simply passed fingertips over each item until he found what he’d been searching for.

Tezuka’s mobile – thin, grey, light in Kite’s fingers – lay in the bottom of the bag and when he took it out, he ran the edge of his thumb over the LCD screen and flipped the cover up.

_(1)Unread text message_

He hesitated, wanting to press the button, but knowing that he shouldn’t. How would he feel if Tezuka searched through his things, seeking information that Kite wasn’t willing to offer, himself?

In the end, of course, he pushed the button. It was a moot point, after all, given that he did not own a messenger bag and had no real secrets to keep, besides.

_I hope you’re not where I think you are. –R_

Brows furrowed, Kite stared at the message for a moment in an attempt to puzzle out what it might mean and whom it might be from. He realized, belatedly, that such information might be gleaned merely by snooping through the other messages in Tezuka’s inbox. He scrolled past the most recent one to take in the others – in order of their receipt - and smiled at the ones that he could guess at – even knowing so little of Tezuka’s personal life as he did.

_Your grandfather misses you, Kunimitsu. Don’t break an old man’s heart. I love you! Take your vitamins!_

_Tezuka – Eiji has tickets to a hockey game! Call me as soon as you can!_

_Tezuka, do you want this ticket or not? Oishi is driving me nuts about it._

_Buchou. Don’t get careless. Wish me luck. –R_

_You’re stupid for even thinking it. Let it go, Buchou. –R_

_Mitsu. I love you. I thought you knew me better than this._

_Kunimitsu, when are finals? Your grandfather wants to plan a party. Please call me this  
week._

_Tezuka. Inui saw Atobe out to dinner with a woman last week. I am praying that you are aware of this, already. –Shuusuke_

_It was just sex. Nobody said we had to get married. –R_

Kite blinked, paying particular attention to the last text and realizing – from the initial alone – who the most recent one was from. He didn’t like the feeling that was his when he thought about someone else touching Tezuka’s body – kissing him, holding him, making love to him. Atobe Keigo. Echizen Ryoma. _Anyone_.

Scowling, he flipped through the phone’s menu again, finding Tezuka’s phone book and adding his own number to the top of the list. Of course, he’d had to change his name to A. Eishirou, but he imagined that Tezuka would recognize his intention. As long as his name preceded Atobe Keigo’s on the list, Kite was satisfied. He did not, however, make note of Tezuka’s number for himself. If Tezuka wanted him, he would contact him. Kite would compromise his own dignity no more than he had already. That was not to say that he experienced any guilt for snooping through Tezuka’s things – that had been a necessary endeavor – but he knew that such sneaky tactics would not be met with Tezuka’s approval. It was clear enough to Kite that Tezuka frowned on his tendency to play dirty when the chips were down. Kite had never been, however, one for compromising his bid for success with something so trivial as his conscience.

He put the phone away, set the bag where he’d found it and made short work of straightening the cushions and the table. When the kitchen was reasonably clean and in no danger of earning Tezuka’s unfavorable consideration, he padded into his bedroom to dress.

In his bureau he found a pair of baggy cargo pants and a plain white t-shirt and, while he dressed, he could hear the sound of water draining from the tub. Tying the drawstring of his pants, he glanced down at Tezuka’s pants, balled up with his briefs on the floor, and tried to imagine Tezuka rising from his bath only to dress himself in clothing that was not pristine.

On a whim, he picked up the pants to shake the wrinkles out before folding them and laying them on the bed. The shirt and sweater-vest followed suit and it was while Kite held the plain, white underwear in both hands that Tezuka emerged from the bathroom.

Wrapped in Kite’s bathrobe, with his glasses in his hand and his hair in damp disarray, Tezuka paused in the doorway and simply stared. At some odd, awkward impasse, neither of them spoke right away but neither could they seem to look away from one another.

Finally, Tezuka cleared his throat to speak first. “Did you want to shower?”

Feeling as though he’d already been caught doing something pathetic, Kite saw no need to lay Tezuka’s underwear down now. Instead, he rubbed the fabric between his fingertips and only barely resisted the urge to rub them against his face. He somehow knew that, if he were ever to do something so blatant, Tezuka would assume that it had been done for show. He would be wrong.

“Why?”

Tezuka blinked, clearly not expecting such a question. “Because,” he began, holding the front of the robe closed even though it was belted quite securely already. “Last night and…I just imagined that you would want to clean up.”

Dropping the underwear on the bed then, Kite ran his hands through his hair, frowning when it barely budged under his attentions. Truly, he was surprised that it wasn’t standing completely on end at this point. “I’m clean enough,” he said. “I’m not as eager to scrub you off of me the way you seem to think I should.”

Tezuka blushed, turning his gaze aside to shield his eyes from Kite. “Don’t say things like that.”

Taking a step forward, Kite shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“No,” was Tezuka’s reluctant answer, and still he did not look up. “Why are you so certain that you know what I’m thinking?”

“I dunno, Tezuka,” he answered. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll prove me wrong.”

Tezuka put his glasses on, then, shielding his eyes as surely as his hair had done previously. “I don’t like your riddles, Kite. You try to confuse me.”

Kite laughed, rocking on the balls of his feet. “You’re so used to head games that you can’t even tell the difference between a riddle and the truth, Tezuka. I think last night was probably a long time coming for you, what do you think?”

Frowning, Tezuka moved past Kite to reach for his clothing. “I think you should stop pretending to know me,” he murmured. “Last night was a mistake.”

Happy to be as easygoing as Tezuka seemed to require that he be, Kite’s even-temper dissolved in the face of Tezuka’s unfair assertion – his blatant _lie_.

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

When Tezuka didn’t answer and, instead, gathered his clothing against him when he turned back toward the bathroom, Kite continued. “Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like a mistake when you curled up beside me to sleep last night.”

Tezuka froze where he stood. Denying the sex would have been easy enough – he’d been planning to do so from the very first – but denying the closeness and warmth that Kite had so selflessly offered him afterward would have been cowardly.

“Forget about the sex if it makes it easier for you to walk away, but don’t pretend that that’s all there was.”

“I was lonely,” Tezuka insisted. “I was lonely and you were horny. Don’t read anything else into it.”

Kite smiled, truly amused by Tezuka’s method of self-preservation. He could almost feel the walls going up around him and he knew that they would not be so easily breached a second time. “Is that really what you think?” he finally asked, voice quiet.

Tezuka didn’t answer right away, aware of Kite’s progressive proximity as if there were no barriers at all between them. It wasn’t until Kite stood just behind him – his breath warm against Tezuka’s neck and his touch light at Tezuka’s shoulders – that Tezuka bothered to respond. “It doesn’t matter, Eishirou,” he said, voice so low and so strained that Kite experienced a moment’s guilt for pushing him when he was clearly not in the proper element to risk not girding himself. “I _can’t…_ ”

Despite his obvious desire for distance, Kite slid both arms around Tezuka to hold him close. He turned his head, nosed against Tezuka’s damp hair and curled his fingers over Tezuka’s wrists. “He must’ve really done a number on you,” he said, eventually. “And I guess that makes me your rebound.”

When Tezuka didn’t answer, but stiffened minutely within his embrace, Kite bowed his head to nuzzle at his neck. He smelled clean and spicy and felt even better – but he wasn’t for Kite. It was probable that he never _had_ been.

“Tell me who he is.”

Declining to respond, Tezuka only tightened his hold on the bundle of clothing in his arms and, after a moment or two, Kite accepted that Tezuka had said all that he intended to say. He kissed his neck, because he wanted to and not because he suspected that it might crumble Tezuka’s defenses. Having gone that far, it was only natural that he would seek to get as much of Tezuka as he was able – even when he knew that such touching, such sharing could go nowhere. He touched Tezuka’s chin, his face, grazed his lips with the tips of his fingers and murmured encouragement when he kissed his mouth. Tentative at first, almost certain that Tezuka would immediately turn away, Kite made some soft sound of approval when Tezuka leaned his head back against his shoulder and parted his lips obligingly.

Wasting no time in deepening the kiss, Kite slid one hand up Tezuka’s neck, holding him possessively and stroking Tezuka’s jaw with the edge of his thumb as he splayed one hand at his belly. Tezuka did not turn toward Kite, nor did he release his hold on the clothing he clutched to his chest, but Kite did not appear to require any further acquiescence than Tezuka had already given.

He nibbled at Tezuka’s lips, stroked his skin, shared his breath, and it was only when Kite’s attentions intensified – his grip tightening and his kiss deepening further still – that Tezuka turned his head to break their contact. And with a small sigh of regret, he spoke. “I,” he began, voice rough and he cleared his throat once when Kite ran a hand up his side to touch his ribs. “I have to go, Eishirou.”

Kite’s fingers tightened only marginally before he closed his eyes to nose at Tezuka’s cheek. “You’ll let me take you home?”

His voice was even and resigned and Tezuka nodded, turning his head as though to initiate another kiss. He didn’t meet Kite’s eyes, though, and simply kept his head turned in profile. He didn’t want to talk anymore – didn’t want to think about his situation, his bad choices, the way he seemed so incredibly accident-prone when it came to matters of the heart. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

Kite smiled – there was no humor in it – and he released his hold on Tezuka. “I’ll wait for you outside. Lock the door on your way out.”

Tezuka watched him walk away, knew by the way he carried himself that he would not ask twice for Tezuka’s favor, and when he heard the front door open and close, he dropped his clothing on the bed again.

There was no need to dress in the bathroom, now.

+++

Shielding his eyes from the sunlight when he stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk, Tezuka glanced around in search of Kite. He realized, as he moved toward the light post to peer out into the street, that the very last thing he wanted this morning was a long, leisurely walk home. He was stiff and sore and while the bath had helped to soothe his body, somewhat, he would have been unable to relish a stroll after the night he’d passed in Kite’s arms.

He took a deep breath, lifted his chin to gaze skyward, and reminded himself that he would be better served to avoid dwelling on the past 24 hours. Kite Eishirou had scrambled his brain a bit, had twisted and shaped Tezuka’s reason and responsibility until he’d convinced himself that it was all right – just this once – to feel and not think.

The unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle’s engine interrupted Tezuka’s train of thought and he startled when the bike emerged from the alley that ran along the side of the apartment building, easing to a stop at the curb before Tezuka. Standing, Kite straddled the bike and motioned to the seat behind him. At the blank expression on Tezuka’s face, Kite laughed and reached behind him to unfasten the spare helmet he’d hooked to the seat strap. “It beats walking,” was all he said, offering the helmet to Tezuka.

Taking it tentatively, Tezuka swept the bike – and the man on it – with a thorough, assessing glance. While he couldn’t pretend to know much of anything about motorcycles, he had to admit that the sporty style suited Kite. Looking at him now, tightening his own helmet and sliding up to coax Tezuka to join him, Tezuka knew that he shouldn’t have anticipated Kite’s owning anything else. Sleek, black, fairly new and obviously very well taken care of, the bike was the sort that would require whomever rode behind the driver to sit close and hang on tight. Tezuka frowned as he strapped the helmet securely in place and approached Kite tentatively – he doubted that Kite would have a problem with the proximity and imagined that it had been the very reason he’d asked to see Tezuka home instead of merely calling him a cab like a gentleman might.

When he mounted the bike, the slope of the seat causing him to slide forward until his groin was pressed tight against Kite’s backside, Tezuka frowned again. Kite Eishirou was no gentleman.

“So where am I going, Tezuka? Anyplace I know?”

Tezuka fidgeted and, realizing that his squirming was likely providing no end of amusement for Kite, grew still. “Probably. About three blocks west of the coffee shop and just outside of the campus.”

Kite thought for a moment until he realized which complex Tezuka was referring to. He passed it nearly every day, in fact. “Aa,” he said. “I know the place. For some reason I imagined you would live on campus.”

“I don’t,” Tezuka said, resting his hands on Kite’s hips and hoping that he could remain as physically unmoved as he’d determined that he must.

“So you live alone,” he said and Tezuka did not miss the smug, knowing inflection in his tone.

“Aa,” was all that he would say and while Kite didn’t say another word, Tezuka could _feel_ his satisfaction.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he said, shifting the bike and getting comfortable. “Hang on tight.”

Settling his feet just behind Kite’s, Tezuka was forced to lean forward when Kite did, plastering himself to Kite’s back the way he hadn’t managed to do when they’d had sex. Gripping Kite’s thighs with his own, Tezuka wrapped his arms around Kite’s narrow waist the way he’d been instructed to do and attempted to ignore how Kite Eishirou and this sleek, powerful machine between his legs put him in mind of sex.

The helmet and the wind that it buffered, the bike’s engine and Kite’s own concentration made any sounds that Tezuka might have made unrecognizable. He’d never ridden on the back of a man’s motorcycle before and he doubted it was something he’d ever do again. With his arms around Kite, though, sharing the heat of his body when the wind made his t-shirt billow, Tezuka wondered that nothing – no one – had ever allowed him to feel this free. It was with that realization that Tezuka quieted his own traitorous thoughts and simply allowed himself to enjoy the feel of Kite’s body against him for what was left of their time together.

The ride was short – less than fifteen minutes – but it had seemed, to Tezuka, to last much longer. In such a short time span, he’d become accustomed to the feel of the bike, had enjoyed the lack of restraint and the knowledge that Kite wouldn’t let him be injured.

When the bike slowed to a stop before Tezuka’s complex, his hold on Kite tightened for only a moment before he pulled away to sit up straight. Positioned at the angle that he was, his feet did not properly touch the ground and he dismounted even before Kite had straightened his own posture and nudged the kickstand into place.

On the sidewalk, Tezuka wasted no time in unfastening the helmet and securing it where it had been before Kite had offered it to him. He felt restless, out of sorts and completely unbalanced and suspected that it had less to do with the whirlwind ride he’d just been given and more to do with the knowledge that this was where they said goodbye.

Lips parted, still unsure as to what he intended to say even as he knew he should say something, Kite surprised him by speaking first and saying the very _last_ thing Tezuka expected him to say.

“Thank you.”

Blinking, Tezuka tilted his head, did not allow himself to take the step forward that his body seemed to insist that he take. “For what?”

Kite smiled a little, nothing of the pleasantries that another man might have offered, and licked his lips – dry from the wind as they were. “Yesterday. Last night. All of it.”

Tezuka swallowed, some part of him wishing that it were not unheard of for men to kiss on the street, wishing that he did not have to protect himself so completely. “I should probably say the same.”

Kite’s gaze, so dark and so easily able to sway Tezuka’s emotions, did not edge away from Tezuka’s face. “Only if you mean it, Tezuka.”

Silence stretched between them, moments heavy with unspoken sentiment and Tezuka’s constant observance of propriety until Kite spoke again, softer this time. “Only if you mean it.”

Before Tezuka could say a word, Kite turned his gaze ahead once more and was speeding away from the curb before the full weight of his words had sufficiently settled in. Tezuka watched him go, hating that he wanted – so badly – to call him back when he had no real reason to want anything so senseless. They were as good as strangers.

And it was there, on the sidewalk, that he took out his phone, flipped the cover up and punched in the one number that he felt was acceptable to call, given what he’d spent the night doing. It only rang twice.

“Took you long enough,” was the only greeting he received.

Tezuka snorted, lowering himself onto the stone bench just outside of the complex – he wasn’t ready to go inside. Not yet. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t have caller ID.”

“Che. If I didn’t, I’d never answer the phone. You know that.”

Tezuka smiled a little. Already his nerves were beginning to quiet – he’d been right to seek a bit of normalcy by making this call. He was silent for a moment, unsure of what exactly he wanted to say, when Ryoma – thankfully - took the decision away from him.

“Just tell me you didn’t go crawling back to Prince Precious. That’s the first item of business.”

Tezuka laughed, completely devoid of humor. “No.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “What’s the second item of business?”

“That you’re okay,” was Ryoma’s immediate reply.

Tezuka was silent for a moment, considering Ryoma’s words. Was he okay? His stomach was tied in knots and his head was still spinning and he was likely going to be sore for the next two days – was he really okay?

“I think I am. Okay.”

“You’ve sounded more convincing, Buchou.”

There was the muffled sound of voices and what sounded like Ryoma dropping the phone before he was back – clear and sure against Tezuka’s ear again. “Sorry. I’m just picking up lunch.”

Tezuka frowned, happy to put his soul searching on hold for a moment. “Lunch? It’s barely ten o’clock.”

“Yeah, I know, but by the time I get over to your place, it’ll be lunch time.”

Presumptuous little shit. “Thank you for thinking of me. Don’t worry, I don’t have other plans today.”

Ryoma snickered and Tezuka could hear people chattering all around him, the buzz of many voices creating more noise than Tezuka felt he could stand at the moment.

“Of course you don’t have plans. You were out all night doing God knows what with God knows who. Now you get to entertain me for awhile.”

Tezuka smiled, knowing that Ryoma’s accusation was heavily steeped in sarcasm. He didn’t believe Tezuka capable of a one-night stand any more than Tezuka would have believed it of himself. That is, before he’d gone home with Kite Eishirou and discovered that he was – apparently – capable of much, much more than he’d ever given himself credit for.

“Very well,” he said, sounding resigned and put upon and not meaning it at all. “I suppose I could use the company.”

He could hear the smile in Ryoma’s voice when he spoke and Tezuka realized that, as much as he’d intended to hole himself up in his apartment, listening to German opera and reading Proust or something equally pathetic and depressing, he was looking forward to spending time with Ryoma. The last thing he needed, he knew, was to allow himself to retreat far enough into himself that he experienced a moment of weakness and actually put in a call to Atobe – to _touch base_ , as Atobe liked to refer to their infrequent, completely unsettling phone conversations.

“I won’t be long.”

When Tezuka didn’t answer, losing himself in thought again, Ryoma prompted, “Buchou?”

Tezuka rolled his eyes. “Stop calling me that.”

Ryoma laughed and Tezuka had to smile. He loved Ryoma’s laugh; things would have been so very simple if only he’d been able to love _Ryoma_.

“Not a chance. And meet me at the door, eh, Buchou? I want a nice, warm welcome.”

Before the scathing reply cleared Tezuka’s lips, Ryoma hung up and Tezuka – unable to wipe the smile from his face – snapped his phone closed and slid it into the side pocket of his bag. He didn’t get up right away and, after a moment, decided to remain just where he was. It was a beautiful morning, the humidity hadn’t begun to climb just yet, and Tezuka felt as though he needed the calm and soothing state of mind that being outdoors always seemed to offer him.

He would wait for Ryoma precisely where he was. If it was a warm welcome he wanted, it was a warm welcome that he would get - even if it were Kite Eishirou who continued to linger in the back of his mind.


	5. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

 

Four days a week, Kite spent two hours at the gym. He kept the weight training to a minimum – it wasn’t bulky, imposing muscle that he was after – and spent at least an hour each visit with the full-size punching bag that hung in the far corner of the gym.

Preparing for a workout was as cathartic and emotionally cleansing as the workout itself; Kite kept to himself when inside the gym and did not allow small talk or any other manner of interruption to break his mindset. After he’d changed into the white track pants and black tank top that he typically wore, he would sit down on the bench in the locker room and tape his wrists and his knuckles. He was slow, methodical, exact – the same qualities that made him exemplary in an operating room served him similarly in the gym. By the time he’d strapped on his trainers and stood to stretch the muscles in his arms and across his back, he was in the zone – he was ready to work the aggression out.

Inside the locker room, men came and went – idle chatter and complaints about work and women and responsibility – and none stopped to speak to Kite Eishirou. As personable as he could be once past the seemingly-impenetrable, aloof, driven exterior, the look in his eyes and the expression on his face did not invite new acquaintances. He was a regular enough presence that the other regulars knew him on sight and, from their observations of him, knew that he did not come to socialize.

The mats were clear when he crossed the floor and he rotated his shoulders idly, tilting his head to stretch the muscles in his neck. His feet were cold, as they always were when he began a workout, but he knew that – soon – he would be warm enough.

Soon, he would be focused and intense, skin slick with sweat and mind clear of everything but the need to harness the restlessness inside him. As always – from as far back as he could remember – Kite would go to war with himself and when he was finished, whatever troubled him would be nothing more than a bad memory.

That it was Tezuka Kunimitsu he needed to work out of his system was a sort of trouble that he was quite unaccustomed to. Even as he took a deep breath, planted both feet on the mat and nudged the punching bag with one, experimental fist, he suspected that – this time - two hours wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

+++

By the time the third bus squealed to a stop before Tezuka’s apartment complex, he was just closing his book and wondering why he wasn’t any more put out by the fact that he’d lost an hour and a half of his life that he would never get back. Plath was proof positive that an author may not truly _belong_ on a required reading list, merely because they happened to be listed there.

He stood, back stiff from sitting overlong on a cold, stone bench – no matter that he’d been adequately warmed by the early morning sunshine – and draped the strap of his back over one shoulder. When Ryoma had not appeared on the second bus, as Tezuka had anticipated that he might, he was certain that he would be on the third one.

Feeling fortunate that it was Ryoma he’d come to meet and not a lesser acquaintance, Tezuka was pleased to be without obligation when it came to schooling his expression and feigning casual disinterest. There were no pretenses between Ryoma and himself and there never would be. They understood one another intrinsically and never needed to speak of their bond in order to lend credence to it.

Ryoma waved, waiting his turn to descend the bus’ steps, ducking just enough to catch Tezuka’s eye through the small, unwashed window. Tezuka didn’t smile, but felt the anxiety – the restlessness – quiet within him when he met Ryoma’s eyes and lifted his hand in reserved acknowledgement.

Given their location, not many people would anticipate catching a glimpse of Echizen Ryoma on a cramped, crowded bus and – to what Tezuka knew was his deepest relief – he could truly relax. There were no journalists, no cameras, no fans clamoring for just a moment of his attention. There was only Ryoma and Kunimitsu and that had ever been the way they liked it.

Clearing the last step – dirty, well-worn trainers firm on the sidewalk – Ryoma nudged the bill of his ball cap up and grinned at Tezuka. Over the years, Ryoma had learned how to smile, how to turn his confidence and ease into something more fit for public consumption, and Tezuka had grown to appreciate that aspect of his personality, even when he was still so incapable of it, himself.

“Buchou,” he said, voice still husky but lower than it used to be, shouldering his bag and heading toward Tezuka. “You waited.”

Expression unchanging, Tezuka nodded once. “Aa,” he acknowledged. “And when will you ever stop calling me that?”

Ryoma chuckled – that same short, self-serving little grunt of amusement – and hooked one arm around Tezuka’s neck to pull him close. As light-hearted and casual as his one-armed embrace was, Tezuka could not prevent the blush that colored his cheeks any more than the instinct that had him glancing around self-consciously.

But Ryoma’s display was not yet complete.

“Never,” he said, leaning in closer, still. “ _Buchou_.”

Tezuka’s complaint – so easily anticipated on the tip of his tongue – never made it past his lips. Before he’d even had time to reacquaint himself with the green-flecked gold of Ryoma’s eyes, the younger man had tilted his head to press a familiar, presumptuous kiss to his lips. Loud and smacking when he pulled away, an echo of Echizen Nanjiroh in the cadence of his laughter, Ryoma’s kiss was what it had been just once before: lingering, soft, as sweet as any kiss Tezuka had ever known. But it didn’t make his heart beat fast or his blood run hot. Even when it still had the power to embarrass the hell out of him when Ryoma insisted on such non-proprietary, _public_ displays of affection.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Tezuka said, voice as even as he wished his expression was, and tugged his bag higher along his shoulder. “What happened to the respectful kohai I used to know?”

Ryoma snorted, ignoring the lingering, shocked glances bystanders continued to afford him, and turned to open the door to Tezuka’s complex. “He’s right here,” Ryoma said, unruffled and completely at ease. “He just grew up some.”

“Hn. I think I liked you better when you were twelve,” Tezuka murmured, pushing back on the door for Ryoma to enter before him – it was a matter of dignity at this point.

Ryoma laughed, and every girl in the immediate vicinity – 13 to 30 – turned admiring eyes his way. “Yeah. That’s what my old man says.”

Tezuka didn’t answer, as they crossed to the elevator. Truthfully, he was only thankful that Ryoma didn’t take the opportunity to remind him of a night best forgotten. A night when Tezuka hadn’t seemed to mind the fact that Ryoma wasn’t twelve-years-old anymore and displayed a prowess that Atobe Keigo would most definitely envy. Ryoma would never know, though, how fervently he’d wished for a time since passed when he’d opened his eyes in the early morning light to find Ryoma naked in his bed and his own heart full of regret.

They didn’t speak of it. Tezuka intended that they never would.

In the elevator, Ryoma rattled the paper bag he held and Tezuka narrowed his eyes, leaning in to peer inside. “Is that lunch?”

Ryoma nodded, pulling off his ball cap to turn it around backwards. “Yeah. Jeez, but it gets hot here early, doesn’t it?”

“Aa. But the nights…”

Tezuka trailed off, clearing his throat and developing a sudden, intense interest in the bag Ryoma carried. There didn’t seem to be anything contained therein that wasn’t sealed in garishly colored plastic, which didn’t bode well for Tezuka’s preference at all.

“The nights?” Ryoma prompted, one hand on the wall to brace himself when the elevator lurched.

Tezuka held the rail and watched the numbers light up with every floor they passed. It wasn’t until the elevator stopped – floor number five – that he spoke. “The nights can still be cold.”

Ryoma didn’t respond and waited for Tezuka to walk out ahead of him. As he’d matured, he’d become less uncommunicative and more willing to articulate his wants and needs instead of keeping so much to himself. Even so, he wasn’t the chattiest person Tezuka knew. Not by a long shot.

They walked in companionable silence to Tezuka’s apartment – Ryoma holding the door while Tezuka arranged his keys and when they closed the door behind them, stepping into the tiny hallway to step out of their shoes in precisely the same manner with precisely the same timing, Ryoma glanced at Tezuka and smirked.

Tezuka waited until he turned away from Ryoma to allow the corners of his lips to twitch in something akin to amusement.

“I thought I saw a familiar, cartoon cat on one of those bags. Are we in for a lunch fit for a champion?”

Ryoma shrugged, setting the bag on the counter and emptying it of its contents, one by one. “Cheetos and soda. It’s all you really need.”

Tezuka frowned, arms crossed over his chest as he mentally ran through the list of items he had stashed in his refrigerator. There was no way – at all – that he was having that for lunch. “Thank you, I’ll pass.”

Without answering, Ryoma finished unpacking the bag and folded it neatly on one of Tezuka’s bar stools. “Relax. I brought you an air salad and some tofu.”

Joining Ryoma at the breakfast bar, Tezuka took a seat and began to sort through some of the items on the counter. Sushi, marinated, crispy vegetables, noodles and a bag of snack chips. “There’s ponta in the refrigerator.”

Ryoma glanced up. “Yeah? Grape?”

“Peach,” Tezuka corrected, opening the plastic seal on the sushi and murmuring something about cheap food stands not including chopsticks with their takeout. “And we need chopsticks.”

“We need more than chopsticks, Buchou,” Ryoma said, returning with a can of ponta, a bottle of water and two pairs of chopsticks. “When was the last time you went shopping? The cupboard is bare.”

Tezuka wrinkled his nose and began to sift through the bits of rice on his tray. “I haven’t had much time lately, to be honest. My schedule at school is taxing to say the least.”

“And that’s all you do? Go to school and come home to listen to German opera and read Proust? Are you suicidal, yet?”

Tezuka frowned. His life wasn’t what most people would call exciting but given the series of disasters his every personal endeavor turned out to be, he didn’t feel as though pursuing any interest – that was not an academic one – was the wisest course of action.

“How about you?” he countered. “What do you do in your spare time?”

“Spare time? What’s that?” he asked, spearing a broccoli florette and popping it into his mouth. “I play, I talk about playing, I travel a lot. I read magazines about things I’m interested in and I have a drink in the hotel bar before I go to bed every night and I have sex with women I don’t know so the rest of the world will think that I’m _that_ kind of guy.”

Tezuka was silent for a moment. There was no ignoring Ryoma’s tone of voice and there was no denying the intensity behind his words. They made his stomach hurt. They made him feel guilty. “It’s not like you to put up a front to create an illusion.” He hesitated, tilting his head to regard Ryoma. “Off the court, that is.”

Smiling wanly, Ryoma popped the top on his can of Ponta and took a long sip. “It’s not really them I’m trying to fool.”

Tezuka looked away, chewing automatically and unwilling to buy into the conversation. He didn’t want to hear about this any more than Ryoma really wanted to talk about it and so he didn’t speak at all.

After a few moments, when he’d polished off all the additives and preservatives that he could get his hands on and Tezuka had set his noodles aside, Ryoma leaned his forearms on the bar and pinned him with a look.

“So. You gonna tell me where you were last night or do I have to start guessing?”

Holding his gaze for several, long seconds, Tezuka eventually responded. “You can guess all you like. It won’t do you any good.”

It felt surprisingly good, having this secret that was his and his alone. Rather, this secret that was his and _Kite’s_.

“Does it have to be a secret?” Ryoma asked. “Is it that big a deal?”

Expression carefully blank, Tezuka sipped from his water bottle and wished for sunset, when he would have an excuse to close the shades, turn on some jazz and have a hot, steaming cup of tea.

“It’s not a secret at all. It’s nothing, actually.”

“If it’s nothing, you’d tell me.”

“Perhaps I don’t feel as though it’s worthy of conversation.”

“Perhaps you’re lying.”

“Perhaps I’m _not_.”

Ryoma smiled then, easing back a bit and turning his cap back around. He wanted to know Tezuka’s secrets, but he wouldn’t badger him for them. Knowing Tezuka as he did, he imagined that if it were truly worth mentioning, he would eventually tell Ryoma about it. And if he didn’t – Ryoma knew – what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“But it’s not about Atobe,” he sought to confirm, eyes narrowed when he peered at Tezuka. “You said that was over.”

Frowning, Tezuka stood, gathering those things that were to be thrown away and studiously avoiding Ryoma’s eyes. The very last thing he wanted tonight was a bit of girl talk regarding ex-boyfriends. “And it is over. Though I can’t imagine what interest you could possibly have in it.”

Ryoma shrugged, sipping his ponta and appearing quite leisurely despite the tense lines of his body that indicated – to Tezuka, in any respect – how interested he was. “Just making sure you haven’t lost your mind or your self-respect.”

At Tezuka’s glare, Ryoma grinned. “Or maybe I just want another match with an old rival.”

Standing at the cabinet, empty bottle of water in his hand and an unreadable expression in his eyes, Tezuka regarded Ryoma for a long, thoughtful moment. There was no mistaking the tone in Ryoma’s voice or that familiar, secretive expression. Tezuka would have been willing to bet that it wasn’t tennis he was referring to. It made him uncomfortable, though he told himself that it shouldn’t.

“Hm,” he finally murmured. “You two were always more alike than he and I ever were.”

Ryoma snickered, though there was no malice in his voice when he spoke. “That makes sense, I guess. Don’t you think so, Buchou?”

Tezuka stared at the floor, brows drawn in thought. They were too alike, those men that he admittedly cared for. That a romantic attachment had not panned out with either of them said more to Tezuka than he wished to acknowledge.

He looked up, finally, tossing the bottle he held into the trash can before moving toward his bedroom. “Clean up your mess, Echizen.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, sitting up straight.

“Shower,” he murmured, not especially concerned as to whether Ryoma had heard him or not. He felt hot and out of sorts. He felt dirty.

+++

The cold shower at the gym had been rather refreshing after an hour with the punching bag, but the sweltering heat that had threatened to suffocate him when he stepped out onto the sidewalk again had been hint enough that he would need to shower yet again by the time he got home. If he could even be bothered to do so.

Now, four hours later and as disinterested in his state of cleanliness as he’d been earlier, Kite looked up from the text he’d been reading and contemplated whether or not he truly wanted to answer the door.

The knock had been light – at first - and an entirely unwelcome distraction. Seated on the floor, leaning against his overstuffed pillows, Kite frowned when it came again. There was no voice on the other side of the door, no voice to inquire after Kite’s presence. It hardly mattered, however; Kite knew well enough who he’d find standing on his doorstep when he deigned to open the door. By the time the second knock came – loud and impatient – he also knew that what was at hand was entirely unavoidable.

It was two weeks tonight. Rin was as predictable as he was confrontational.

With a heavy sigh, Kite lay his text aside and climbed slowly to his feet. He had three more chapters to read, but knew that it would be impossible to concentrate on pathology with Rin hovering at the back of his mind.

If it were a showdown he wanted, Kite would oblige. He had, in fact, been anticipating this moment since the day following their last fight.

He flipped the deadbolt, slid the chain free and opened the door just enough to peer outside. “Can I help you?”

Peering up at Kite from beneath long, pale bangs – somehow managing to appear at once accusatory and contrite – Rin slouched on the doorstep. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets and something in his expression, some little flash of uncertainty, tugged at Kite’s rather misplaced sense of nostalgia. Even as he very nearly lifted his hand to touch Rin’s pretty mouth, he only succeeded in retreating further into himself. His heart was unmoved. He didn’t want to ride that horse any longer.

“You didn’t call,” was all he said.

Arching one brow, Kite braced his arm against the doorjamb and opened the door another inch or two. “Were you expecting me to?”

Rin scowled, all sweetness and light dissipating. “Beh, Eishirou, you prick.”

“And you missed me, I see.”

Sighing, Rin ran a hand through his tousled hair and straightened. “Let me in.”

Or you’ll blow my house down? he thought, wisely opting against speaking it aloud. It wasn’t his _house_ that Rin had come looking to blow.

Stepping aside, Kite opened the door to allow Rin entrance. He didn’t touch him and maintained a careful distance when he closed the door behind him. Rin didn’t look back and, instead, strode into the kitchen as though he belonged there. Kite imagined that as far as Rin was concerned, he did.

“It’s only been two weeks, Hirakoba-kun. You might have me believing that you couldn’t find anything – or anyone – better to get into.”

Turning, Rin narrowed his eyes, expression fierce. The tips of his hair brushed his shoulders, nearly bare in the muscle shirt he wore, and he stood his ground. “Fuck you, Kite Eishirou. You’re just as much to blame for me leaving as I am, so don’t you dare pull that holier-than-thou shit on me.”

Kite remained unmoved, unruffled. Untouchable.

With a Gallic shrug, Kite turned to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator – taking his time uncapping it and swallowing a long drink – before giving Rin his attention again. Rin hated being ignored, more than anything else Kite could ever do to him.

“Fine. I take full responsibility. And now that you have your absolution, you can go back to Okinawa. I still have two chapters to get through tonight.”

Eyes flashing, Rin clenched his fists. “I thought you needed some time to cool down. Like I did. That’s why I stayed away.”

“Cool down? By the time you walked out that door, _Hirakoba-kun_ , I was cool enough. I told you not to turn your back on me. You didn’t listen – this is your fault, not mine.”

“You fucking bastard,” Rin hissed, taking a step forward as though preparing his offense. “You set this whole thing up, didn’t you? Pushed me away, turned the argument around – threw my own words back at me. Admit it,” he said, cheeks flushed with anger. “You wanted a reason to send me away and make me out to be the bad guy.”

Glancing away briefly, Kite took another drink. “Your drama is exhausting, Rin. It must be taxing to live inside your mind day after day.”

At Rin’s murderous glare, Kite continued. “Don’t complicate the issue. You and I are different people who want different things. That last argument erased any doubt I might have still harbored on that score.”

“I like being with you, Eishirou; I don’t think we’re that different,” he protested.

Swirling the water around in the bottom of his bottle, Kite walked past Rin and toward the bedroom. When he’d stormed out, two weeks ago, he’d left behind just enough of himself that Kite had seen fit to pack them away. They didn’t belong in his space – not anymore – and Kite didn’t like looking at them.

“You’re wrong,” he called back, voice infuriatingly even. “You like it when I fuck you. It’s not the same thing.”

Rin followed, but hung back in the doorway when the impact of Kite’s words settled. Never had another person’s words hurt him the way Kite’s just had.

“Is that what you think? That it’s only sex between us?”

Bending to sweep the small plastic bag from beneath a chair, Kite paused. Rin’s shock was evident – it surprised him to realize that they hadn’t taken the same stance on their relationship. Then again, though, it only made sense that they wouldn’t see eye-to-eye. In the beginning – before Kite had gone away to college – he’d been certain that Rin had loved him as he had loved Rin. Realizing that he’d been mistaken and had overestimated Rin’s capacity for real, consuming love had taken some time and had resulted in an almost unbearable disillusionment.

Kite attempted to convince himself that he could be excused for such blind, romantic notions – particularly when Rin’s embrace had been so complete. He’d mistaken lust for devotion and had learned the lesson well.

“Yes,” he said, simply. “I do.”

Shaking his head, Rin stepped into the room. “Eishirou, we’ve been together for three years. You can’t tell me that you think I don’t care about you.”

“Of course not. I know you care about me – as I care about you. But it’s not enough. I don’t think it will ever be enough.”

Chest rising and falling as he fought to control his breathing, Rin’s voice rose when he spoke again. “What the fuck do you want from me, Eishirou? I’ve given you everything, already!”

Kite was slow to approach him and his words were deliberate. “Where were you last weekend?”

Before he could properly answer, Kite cut him off with another, more direct question. “Let me rephrase that. _Who_ did you go home with last weekend?”

He spoke quickly – guilty enough that he would use any means to justify his actions. “Yuujiroh. We went out together – it was no big deal.”

“Really?” Kite asked lightly and Rin felt as though he’d wandered into a minefield. Kite loved playing mind games. He’d lost count of the many times Kite had caught him in a lie – had begun a discussion knowing Rin was lying – and kept up the pretense of ignorance strictly in the interests of seeing how long he could make it last before Rin tripped himself up in his tangled lie. That he was doing it now was a certainty and Rin knew that if ever there was a time to conceal the truth in order to spare Kite’s anger, now was not that time.

“Yes, really.”

“So you didn’t meet anyone at the party? Didn’t do a little blow in the bathroom and wind up in Chinen’s car missing the lower half of your pretty poolside ensemble?”

Rin flushed, angry now – even when he only had himself to blame. “You fucking bastard. You had him spy on me – I never thought you’d sink so low.”

Kite laughed – a hollow, emotionless sound – and swung the bag idly in his grasp. “Come now, Rin. You know very well that I’ve sunk much, much lower than that. And besides, Chinen is only interested in your welfare.”

Rin snarled and Kite went on, composed as he always was. “Clearly he doesn’t think your habit of fucking everything that can’t outrun you is in your best interests. I admit that I’m inclined to agree.”

Kite tossed the bag of clothes to Rin, expression hard. He wasn’t so unmoved as he’d seemed. “Sex is all there is between us. It seems to be all you’re capable of.”

When Rin didn’t answer, merely tightened his hold on the bag he held and lifted his gaze to Kite again, he glared hard at him. “You’re not so perfect, yourself, you know. As long as I’ve known you – God, even before we got together – you keep this distance around you. You bark orders and you set expectations and you think a sweet word and soft touch every once in a fucking blue moon will make up for the fact that you’re as empty inside as you pretend I am.”

When Kite didn’t answer, Rin kept going – driven on by the look on Kite’s face and the careful hesitation in his eyes. “You want to know why I fuck other guys? Why I always look around even when you’re right beside me, Kite Eishirou? Well, I’ll tell you. Ownership is not love. I don’t think you have the slightest idea what love is.”

Tilting his head, expression almost wistful, Kite regarded Rin for a moment. “Don’t I?” he asked, voice suitably enigmatic. “You’d be surprised, I think, if I told you what I knew about love.”

“Tell me then!” Rin yelled, tossing the bag aside and closing the distance between them with a handful of footsteps. “Tell me if you know! Show me that I’m not an idiot for giving you everything.”

Thoughtfully, almost reverently, Kite lifted one hand to tuck Rin’s hair behind his ear. Something in his manner – in his tone – spoke less of a true sense of endearment and more of simple veiled condescension. His voice was soft, though, and almost soothing.

“Sometimes, when I’m talking to you and you’re looking at me, watching my lips move and waiting for an opportunity to touch me again, I wonder if you’re hearing a word I say. And if you are, whether or not you understand any of it.”

Rin turned his head, rubbing his cheek against the palm of Kite’s hand, knowing that he should be angry but unable to ignore the contentment that Kite’s touch afforded. “You’re saying I’m stupid,” he murmured.

“I’m saying we’re different.” He sighed, twirling a few strands of Rin’s hair around his fingers and bringing him close to wrap one arm around him. “You’re not an idiot. You just don’t know me – not the way we used to know each other.”

Inhaling – breath shaky and chest tight - Rin swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Nobody had ever made him cry. Only Kite. Only ever Kite. “Who knows you better?” he asked, voice tight. “Name one. Just one person who knows you better than I do.”

Kite was silent, wishing it weren’t so easy to say the things he said while Rin clung to him, trembling like a child. He knew that, eventually, the balance would shift and Rin’s pride would override his misplaced emotions. Whatever heartache he felt now would dissipate sooner rather than later – they weren’t in love and never had been. Most unacceptable to Kite was the knowledge that it had been Tezuka Kunimitsu to show him the error of his ways. Unable to realize – on his own – that what he had with Rin was convenient rather than necessary, it was still his responsibility to pick up the pieces. He didn’t love Rin – he didn’t think he ever had – but his welfare was still Kite’s priority.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he finally answered, petting Rin’s hair absently. What did that say about him and his capacity for love when the person who knew him best didn’t really know him at all?

Nosing against Kite’s neck, hands bunching the fabric at Kite’s hips, Rin squeezed his eyes closed tightly. They were close - close enough that he pressed against Kite’s and breathed in the scent of his body and the oddly floral laundry detergent that he used.

“You don’t mean this,” he whispered. “You can’t.”

Kite didn’t move, didn’t object when Rin’s lips grazed the side of his neck. “I do,” he said, apology thick in the tone of his voice.

He didn’t object when Rin slipped both arms around his waist to nuzzle at his jaw. He didn’t object, but neither did he feel what he knew he was supposed to feel. He didn’t feel what he’d felt when Tezuka wrapped those thin arms and legs around him and closed his eyes as if to shut out the reality of what he’d done.

When he framed Rin’s face with both hands and leaned in to press their mouths together, he felt that this goodbye would have to convey what neither himself nor Rin had managed to articulate before now. This goodbye should count for something. Kite doubted there would be another.

Their kiss, almost tentative, wistful, was reminiscent of the first kiss they ever shared. Dusk on the beach with the sound of the waves and the sticky heat a seductive enticement; Kite had let Rin push him back in the sand to begin what would turn out to be three years of trying to make the wrong puzzle pieces fit.

Rin’s lips were hot and dry and when Kite tilted his head to kiss him again, Rin opened for him. He felt so solid in Kite’s arms – more real and unyielding than Kite had ever realized. It occurred to him that this strength was Rin’s final bid to change Kite’s mind. This first time – this last time – he would give everything he possessed, though already he suspected that Rin knew, as he did, that it was too late. Kite had withdrawn, could not pretend otherwise, and Rin was far too intuitive to ignore it.

“Kite,” he said, against Kite’s lips, and slid his palms up Kite’s back – under his shirt. “Don’t talk about love to me.”

Gripping his ass, squeezing, holding him close, Kite kissed the corner of his mouth, his face, just beneath his ear. “You brought it up.”

Eyes closed, breath coming fast, Rin tightened his hold on Kite, somehow strengthening his resolve to keep from losing himself. “Yeah,” he panted, winding Kite’s tank top around his fist when he slipped his other hand into Kite’s shorts. “But I’m stupid.”

Before Kite could form a response if, in fact, he’d been planning to offer one at all, Rin nipped at Kite’s jaw and dropped to his knees. He was quick – always, he was quick – and had Kite’s shorts around his ankles and Kite’s cock in his mouth before Kite could question whether this was the right thing to do.

He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly when Rin wrapped long, tanned arms around Kite’s hips to hold him firmly in place while he licked and sucked at him. He made those sweet sounds, those needy, eager noises that always let Kite know how much he was enjoying himself. He touched pale, tousled hair and tried not to compare it to softer, darker strands. He swept soft cheeks with the backs of his fingers and pretended he wasn’t thinking about the glasses that his fingertips should have encountered. He spoke Rin’s name even when it was quite another that he shaped each time he breathed in. It was wrong and it wasn’t fair, but Kite couldn’t turn him away.

“Rin,” he breathed, gathering long hair into a tight ponytail at the back of his neck. “I’m about to…”

Rin pulled back – lips puffy and eyes dark – and he stood to whip his shirt over his head.

Standing before him with his cock hard and slick beneath the tank top that hung crooked on his frame now, Kite made no move to assist him. Stripping off his shorts and underwear and nudging them aside, Rin met Kite’s eyes only briefly when he placed two hands in the center of his chest and pushed him backward. The bed was low to the ground – he landed heavily – and Rin was over him too fast to allow for any reprimand or show of temper.

He straddled Kite’s thighs, wrapped both hands around Kite’s dick and his own. He didn’t care about the tank top.

Jerking them together, rougher than Kite would have done, but knowing that he wouldn’t protest, Rin stared down at him, satisfied that there was no light to catch his lenses and obscure his eyes.

“Where is it?” he asked, rubbing his balls against Kite’s. “Same place?”

Kite was silent, adrift in the slow, perfect pressure of Rin’s hand as his mind wandered. No, not the same place. He’d tossed it in the floor after he’d used it with…

 _Tezuka_.

“Floor,” he breathed, bucking into Rin’s fist. “Somewhere on the floor.”

The inside of Rin’s thigh rubbed Kite’s cock when he shifted to lean over the side of the futon, searching for the familiar bottle and he began to understand what was happening between them. Rin had watched Kite jerk himself off many, many times in the past – he never used lube. The bedding was a mess, Kite was preoccupied; Rin was not so stupid as Kite imagined.

He located it quickly enough; the bottle was slippery, still.

Uncapping it and mounting Kite once again, Rin held the bottle over Kite’s belly and tipped it to one side. “This room is a mess, Eishirou. You must have been busy, indeed, to ignore it.”

Lips parted to answer, Kite gasped instead when Rin gripped him firmly, stroking and squeezing even as he reached behind him to stretch and lube himself. He was efficient, determined, horny and eager and angry and hurt.

“Kite,” he said, when he guided him in. “Look at me.”

Fisting the sheets when Rin’s buttocks pressed snugly against his groin, Kite met his eyes. His jaw was tight, his belly was clenched – Rin was too hot and squeezing too hard – and he held tighter to the sheets when Rin began to move on him.

“What does love feel like, if it’s not this?”

Kite moaned, rose to his elbows only to flop back against the pillows when Rin spread his thighs a bit and leaned forward to grip Kite’s shoulder. Kite watched, as horny as he’d ever been, but yet unable to connect at all, and sucked in a breath when Rin began to jerk his cock while he rode Kite fast. There was no accusation in the tone of his voice – no sarcasm. His question had been genuine.

“I can’t,” he murmured, arching his back, his head back and forth against his pillow. “I can’t show you with words.” He thrust his hips up, moaned aloud. “God, Rin.”

Bowing his head, biting his lip to stifle the sound he would have made, Rin squeezed his eyes shut tight and jerked himself faster. Kite couldn’t explain it – didn’t have the words necessary to make it clear. And his actions – the words he had offered – made it clear enough that he would never be able to _show him_.

Rin wondered, when he came over Kite’s belly – clenched hard around him to bring Kite immediately after – who it was that had managed to take Rin’s place so quickly and completely. Someone had done it, regardless of Kite’s weak excuses. Someone had done what Rin had begun to think was impossible; what he’d always intended to do, himself.

Kite covered his eyes with the back of his arm and Rin lay down atop him. When two minutes became five and then ten and there were no words between them, Rin sighed. Kite touched his shoulder and still he did not speak.

+++

 

Ryoma sighed, tossed the magazine he’d been flipping through onto the coffee table and looked over at Tezuka. He imagined that only Tezuka Kunimitsu could somehow manage to appear poised even curled up and napping on the sofa as he was.

 

He’d fallen asleep somewhere between the Treaty of Kyakhta and the fall of the Qing dynasty and – if he’d been sleepy at all – Ryoma felt certain that he’d have passed out, himself. Historical documentaries were about as exciting as watching grass grow.

 

Shifting against the cushion, Ryoma watched Tezuka tuck one hand under his cheek and curl in on himself. He touched Tezuka’s leg lightly and turned down the volume on the television. He’d watched Tezuka struggle to remain awake as the day had worn on and when it became obvious that sleep would win out, Ryoma had made no move to interfere. Whatever Tezuka had spent the night doing, it had certainly not been sleeping.

 

He was quiet, picking his way around the kitchen – getting a drink, a snack. It was likely that Tezuka would awaken just before bedtime, guilty for not feeding or entertaining his guest. Ryoma intended that he would be able to say – truthfully – that he’d already eaten and was ready for bed. He’d let Tezuka make it up to him with breakfast.

 

Glancing around idly, rubbing his belly under his shirt, Ryoma’s gaze fell upon Tezuka’s computer and he grinned.

 


	6. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

 

The sheets were cool on the right side of the bed – on that side of the bed that Atobe never touched. His pillow was soft and faintly scented with lavender and his blankets were smooth and still turned down just so. Stretching out on his back, toes reaching toward the end of the bed, Atobe took in the state of his bedsheets to see that his bed barely looked slept in. Rubbing his face with one hand, he realized that his bed looked as though it hadn’t been slept in because he hadn’t really slept.

He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling. He reminded himself – again – that even when Tezuka still shared his bed, he rarely slept there all night long. Their meetings were desperate, passionate; Atobe had begun to think he would never get enough of Tezuka to ever risk tiring of him. He’d imagined that their interactions were exactly what was necessary to sustain the only sort of relationship he would ever be capable of having with another man. Somewhere along the way, though, they’d grown closer, shared space and emotion and some of the most stimulating conversation Atobe had ever partaken of – with anyone – and Atobe had allowed himself to be trapped. Not by Tezuka or any possible machinations on his part, but by his own desire and his own need and his own heart. It hadn’t been his intention, but he supposed it had been inevitable, nonetheless. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown to love Tezuka – a real, substantial, irrefutable sort of love – and Tezuka had recognized those feelings in him without Atobe ever having to say a word.

Reality intruded, however, as reality always seemed to do and Atobe simply didn’t possess what was required to hold his life together and still keep Tezuka by his side. For all that Atobe knew he would deny it, Tezuka saw the world in varying shades of color – that was the dreamer in him – and could never understand the pressure and the expectation that Atobe had inherited when he’d been given the Atobe name. Atobe had learned the hard way that there were no gray areas. There was black and there was white and Tezuka had once said, though Atobe doubted he would even remember it, that black and white were not true colors.

They’d been alone in the east wing of the house, perusing the Atobe family gallery and Tezuka had made some comment regarding the cold, emotionless feeling so many of Atobe-san’s pieces invoked.

‘He’s always liked the minimalist style,’ Atobe had said. ‘The colors suit him, I think.’

Fixing Atobe with that solemn, appraising expression, Tezuka had frowned. ‘Those aren’t colors at all. They’re just…nothing.’

Shortly thereafter, he’d gone on to visit each and every piece in the gallery, nodding thoughtfully at some and barely pausing before others and Atobe had known, even as his heart ached with pride and desire as he watched Tezuka move about the room, that he didn’t know Tezuka the way he’d imagined that he did. Worse, still, was the realization that Tezuka did not know himself any better. There was color in him – in his mind and in his heart – and he hadn’t yet realized it.

Atobe had loved him then, though he’d refused to admit it, and he loved him now. That he hadn’t been able to give himself to Tezuka the way Tezuka had deserved was the reason they could never truly be together. That would never change, though. The only difference between his longing now and his longing then was that he knew the origin of it. Unfortunately, he also knew how this story went and there was no happy ending for him and for Tezuka. Not together, in any event.

Even knowing this, accepting his future and his obligations as only an Atobe could, he couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to set eyes on him again. To hear his voice and watch him hold himself so perfectly removed and untouchable in the face of Atobe’s lingering attachment to him. It had been months since they’d seen one another and while the pain had finally begun to recede, Atobe’s regret had not. He needed closure, needed to try to make Tezuka understand what he hadn’t bothered to say the night they’d gone their separate ways. The night Tezuka had decided that what Atobe offered was no longer sufficient.

Atobe wondered if what he had to offer would ever be sufficient. For anyone.

Rolling to one side, he sat up at the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders ached and he rubbed his temples in an effort to stave off the spectacular headache that he knew would be his, soon.

The clock read 4:45 and though he had the entire day free to do as he liked, he knew that sleep would not be his. He could not rest; he could not relax. It seemed that regret was even more formidable an obstacle than Atobe had ever imagined and when he left his bed – silk bedclothes whispering against his skin when he moved – it was a distraction that he sought.

In the sitting room, Atobe poured himself a brandy in the dark and sat down at his computer, powering up without benefit of light and sipping from his glass with his eyes closed. For a man who lived in a constant spotlight, the occasional darkness was a welcome respite.

He didn’t surf the web – there was nothing of interest there, anymore – and he didn’t open work documents or the file of possible blackmail material he’d amassed over the past year or two and he certainly didn’t open up his personal collection of pictures. Instead, he opened his email and he didn’t bother pretending that he wasn’t hoping for some word from Tezuka. He didn’t want to see his pictures, but he wouldn’t have minded some communication from him. Something to let him know that Tezuka still thought of him, still missed him.

As he drank, though, he reminded himself that Tezuka had not answered his last three emails and rarely responded to his texts. There was an unspoken rule that they would not phone one another and Atobe was proud of his himself for adhering, despite his desire to the contrary.

By the time his inbox opened, his glass was empty and so he rose to fill it again – to the rim, this time – before settling into his desk chair. The leather was cool through his pajamas and he shifted, taking another, long swallow from his glass. His eyes were bleary yet, but he could see reasonably well. After he’d finished his brandy, he would shower and find his eye drops.

_Welcome, Keigo. You have **(6)** unread messages._

He perused the list of senders, smiling faintly to himself even as he fought to ignore his disappointment. Since none of them were from Tezuka, he opened them in the order that they’d been received.

__**To** : Atobe Keigo  
**From** : Kabaji Munehiro  
**Subject** : Next week 

_Atobe,_

_The Aston-Martin has been sent out for repairs. I experienced some problems with the brakes yesterday and feel that it would be best to have it checked before you take it out again. Please do not worry; I’m certain the brake line hasn’t been cut. I am merely being cautious. Have Hiroki bring the Daimler around for you if you must go out today. Also, there are cinnamon biscotti in the kitchen. I know how you like those with the African blend._

_-Kabaji_

_  
_

_______________________________________________

__  


__**To** : Atobe Keigo  
**From** : Atobe Miyoko  
**Subject** : Tea Ceremony 

_Keigo,_

_I’ll be returning from Osaka on the tenth and I am afraid that I am just going to miss Nanami-san’s Ceremony that afternoon. Would you please keep that date open on your calendar (if it is not already full, of course) in the event that I will be unable to attend? It’s imperative that someone attend in the interests of your father’s upcoming transactions with Nanami-san’s husband. Also, if you could arrange to escort Nanami-san’s daughter, I’m certain that such a gesture on your part would only serve to sweeten the arrangement. Shige is a lovely girl – I’m sure you remember from the last party we attended at the family’s weekend home. Please call me this week so that we might discuss this further. Good luck on your final exam!_

_Love,_

_Mom_

__

 

_  
_

_______________________________________________

__  


__**To** : Atobe Keigo  
**From** : Oshitari Yuushi  
**Subject** : Public hanging 

_Keigo,_

_My mother has volunteered me to escort Mayuzumi Hiroe to some ridiculous hen party – has your mother mentioned this to you? I’ve heard that you’ll be escorting Nanami Shige and I felt it necessary to confirm this information before I consented to wasting hours of my life on a date that I am certain will not result in sex in any way, shape, or form. Call me – we need to sync our stories before I come up with a decent enough excuse._

_Also, Gakuto and Hiyoshi want a rally. Gakuto’s been restless lately; I feel that I cannot refuse him._

_Call me._

__

 

_  
_

_______________________________________________

__  


__**To** : Atobe Keigo  
**From** : Fuji Shuusuke  
**Subject** : Unfortunate Accidents 

_Hello Keigo. It has been a while, ne?_

_This is not an easy email to write. Indeed, I feel a bit awkward and presumptuous, but I fear that it simply cannot be helped._

_I’ve recently spoken to Tezuka and he seems well. I don’t imagine that you need to be told how I’ve suffered in watching him struggle with his own suffering. Be the better man this time and let him go. It’s difficult for him to let go when you are so determined to remind him of what has been lost. I’m sure you realize that you are at fault and that any heartbreak you have experienced – if, in fact, you experienced any at all – is your own doing._

_Let Tezuka move on. I am certain that you are not wanting for bed partners and I don’t wish to make this situation any uglier than it already is._

_Oh, and before I forget: I am hosting an engagement party for my sister on the 10th. Kawamura and I would be delighted if you could attend. ^__^_

_RSVP by the end of next week if you can make it._

_Regards,_

_Shuusuke_

__

 

_  
_

_______________________________________________

__  


__

 

__**To** : Atobe Keigo  
**From** : aNtHONy bIGcOCK  
**Subject** : Ladies love you huge sausage? 

_Breezy and nice it is the time that we all love to find big erection in love love skyblue. C1ALIS prescription at fraction of cost is good love for all ladies. You are tired of teeny weenie, we are tired also!_

_www.prescripforless.com_

__

 

_  
_

_______________________________________________

__  


__

 

__**To** : Atobe Keigo  
**From** : bamf_ace  
**Subject** : Pathetic 

_Hey, you punk bitch. :)_

_I hear you’ve traded in your racket for a pretty pink training bra and kitten heels, is that right?_

_Keigo, Keigo, Keigo. I am disappointed in you – what have you become? Where’s the Atobe I used to know? Do you miss it? The sun and the sweat and the concrete under your overpriced, designer trainers? Don’t you miss the way all that ambition and drive used to run through your veins when you took a good win? Don’t say no, you fucking liar – I know you better than you ever thought I did._

_Success is more than a nice suit and a prissy car and fat bank._

_Come and out play, Keigo – you were always the worthiest opponent I ever faced._

_Think about it._

_And quit drinking; you’re gonna get fat._

 

_______________________________________________

 

Atobe sat back, blinking. If he hadn’t been awake before, he certainly was now. Frowning minutely, he reread the last email and experienced a sudden, familiar surge of irritation. He pushed his glass away and stood, shoving the chair away from him. There was nothing Atobe hated more than being taunted where he couldn’t respond. While he reasoned that it could have been a joke, something about the tone of the email was oddly familiar and Atobe knew that none of his own friends would dare to send such a message, whether or not it was written in jest. Someone knew him well enough to push all the right buttons. Someone who knew him but didn’t want to reveal his identity. That was fine, he told himself petulantly. He would respond to his secret admirer. Later. At _his_ leisure.

Raking a hand through his hair, Atobe turned toward the bathroom, already unbuttoning his shirt in quick, distracted motions. He didn’t close out his email, didn’t turn off his computer.

And he didn’t finish his brandy.

+++

The sun had barely risen when Ryoma awoke. Though he hadn’t slept even half as long as Tezuka had, he felt reasonably well rested. Over the years, his capacity for sleep had lessened until he’d found himself rising after only five or six hours a night. He reasoned that it was normal, to go through cycles of sleep when one traversed alternate patterns of athleticism versus sedentary relaxation. It was the off-season and Ryoma was still trying to adjust.

It was just after six-thirty when he shifted, stretching his legs and enjoying the cool smoothness of Tezuka’s sheets against his feet. Though the bed was big enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably, Tezuka’s head was an embarrassingly welcome weight on Ryoma’s pillow and when he turned his head to take in the sight of Tezuka’s face – so pale and beautiful – Ryoma could no more have repressed his smile than he could resist turning toward Tezuka’s warmth.

Surprisingly, Tezuka burrowed closer, sheets tangled around his legs to bare Ryoma’s and when Ryoma slid one arm beneath Tezuka’s head, he was quite unprepared for Tezuka’s immediate reaction. Even as he watched, eyes wide, Tezuka pressed his face against Ryoma’s shoulder and draped one arm over his waist. Ryoma’s heartbeat picked up; he barely dared to breathe for fear of waking Tezuka and making an awkward situation ten times more so.

Tezuka was _snuggling_ him. Snuggling him like a child, like a…

Ryoma swallowed hard. Tezuka had never snuggled to him this way. Not in all the nights they’d spent together – platonic though they’d been – and certainly not that one night whereupon they’d crossed a boundary that Tezuka seemed uninterested in ever venturing beyond again.

Bowing his head, Ryoma let the tips of Tezuka’s hair brush his lips and he smiled to find that Tezuka used the same shampoo that he’d used in middle school. Something of this closeness, this obvious regard – this love – squeezed tight around Ryoma’s heart and he touched Tezuka’s back lightly. Tezuka had been his dream, once. His ideal, his desire, the one thing he’d aspired to even when he was too young to know what such intensity could lead to. Now – older and wiser but no less reckless – he knew that what he felt for Tezuka went far, far beyond what most of his friends would call ‘love’. Tezuka was Ryoma’s idol, his best friend, his first love. He was everything to Ryoma and there was no label he could slap on what they were to one another merely in the interests of validating it.

But Tezuka did not love Ryoma and Ryoma knew that he never would. Not in the way he’d loved Atobe.

Ryoma told himself that it didn’t matter and, when he really took a moment to analyze the depth of his feelings, he knew that he wasn’t lying to himself. Somehow, over the years, the dynamic between himself and Tezuka had grown and changed to become something mutually beneficial. They each brought something to the relationship that the other person needed and that was enough for Ryoma. Truthfully, he knew himself better than most boys his age and he knew that where Atobe had failed, he would fail, also. Tezuka required a commitment, an intense bond and intrinsic connection that Ryoma would never be able to offer him. Such intensity exhausted him. And so it came to be – in the early hours of what had to have been one of hundreds of days they’d shared with one another – that Ryoma came to terms with what they were together. And what they’d never be. That it didn’t hurt as he’d expected and, instead, made him feel as though some weight had been lifted was indicative of how intuitive he’d become. Or had always been, perhaps.

Tezuka hummed in his sleep, then, one long, bare leg brushing Ryoma’s when he nosed against his shoulder.

“…shirou,” he murmured, mouth damp against Ryoma’s t-shirt and Ryoma grew very still, leaning in to better hear him.

He was silent for a moment, a soft sigh escaping him when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of Ryoma’s shirt to brush his side. Very nearly holding his breath in an attempt to stave off any impromptu visits from the erection fairy, Ryoma reasoned that just because he’d reconciled to a platonic relationship with Tezuka didn’t mean that he couldn’t imagine that pretty, pale body of his and immediately be ready to rock and roll.

“Come on, Buchou,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me now.”

Tezuka murmured again, rubbing his leg against Ryoma’s and shifting just that much closer. “Yes,” he slurred. “… _shirou_.”

Shirou? Ryoma frowned; who the hell was this Shirou asshole?

He shifted carefully, resting Tezuka’s head on the pillow and easing out of his embrace to slide off the bed. Crouched on the floor, eye level with Tezuka’s face, he watched him for a moment until he rolled to his back, one arm flung overhead to raise his shirt and bare his flat belly. “Mmm,” he hummed, and grew still again.

Rising to his feet, Ryoma stood over the bed, watching, assessing, reasoning that his protective nature was something he couldn’t help and that he was perfectly within his rights to find out who this Shirou guy was.

Tezuka didn’t appear to be cold – he certainly hadn’t felt cold against Ryoma – and so Ryoma didn’t move to cover him. He figured that by the time he’d finished whipping up a magnificent breakfast of coffee and French toast, Tezuka would be just waking up, anyway.

In the kitchen, though, even as he moved toward the refrigerator, his gaze fell on the messenger bag that lay on one of the bar stools. He hesitated – it wouldn’t be right to invade Tezuka’s privacy and risk violating his trust. Even as he thought it, though, he told himself that Tezuka couldn’t be angry with him if he didn’t _know_ that he’d done it.

With one long glance toward the bedroom, satisfied when he heard no sound from within, he leaned over to lift the front flap of the bag and fished around inside until his fingers closed around Tezuka’s phone. He glanced over his shoulder again when he flipped the phone up to access the menu.

Contacts. Phone book.

The very first entry gave him pause and Ryoma stared at it for a few moments, thumb hovering over the name that he didn’t recognize.

**A. Eishirou**

Frowning, Ryoma perused the rest of the list, looking for something, anything that looked less familiar than A. Eishirou did. Tezuka’s contact list, however, was very similar to Ryoma’s in that they shared many of the same friends. The only two entries that Ryoma could not place were one Professor Ichigawa (rather self-explanatory) and A. Eishirou.

There was nothing for it, though. Try as he might, he could not place anyone by that name and deduced that this had to be the name Tezuka had spoken in his sleep. ‘Shirou. _Eishirou_. It was oddly familiar but Ryoma could not grasp precisely where he’d heard it before.

Before he could think better of it, he opened the contact information to find that the number was a local one. This A. Eishirou lived in the area and Tezuka was dreaming about him. In fact, Ryoma frowned – already reaching for the notepad and pencil Tezuka kept beside the counter phone – Tezuka was having rather pleasant dreams about him if all those breathy sighs and sweet noises were anything to go by.

He wrote the number down, folded the piece of paper and snapped Tezuka’s phone closed. Ryoma knew that he would be better served in reserving judgment on this very touchy subject. He put the phone away, closed the bag and remembered that he was hungry.

Tezuka was a big boy and could look out for himself. Ryoma would keep the number, though.

Just in case.

+++

The station was bustling with activity, even as early as it was. Rin took his time, meandering along the walkway with his duffle over his shoulder and his phone pressed tightly to his ear. With his hair tied back and his too-big shorts and flip-flops, he knew he looked out of place and he didn’t care. He wasn’t rich, but he wasn’t poor, either. He didn’t care what other people thought and he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he strolled along, waiting for his call to connect.

“Yo.”

“Yuujiroh.”

“Hai? Rinrin? Where are you?”

Rin smiled, where he usually just scowled and demanded that Kai not ever call him that again. Given that he’d been calling Rin that since elementary school, however, it was entirely unlikely that he would be willing to stop now. Truthfully, though he’d never admit it, sometimes he liked it when Kai called him Rinrin. It reminded him that he had a place to return to – people who’d known him longer than Kite and cared more for him, besides.

“I’m at the station in Fukuoka. I’m getting ready to catch the train to Kagoshima.”

There was a pause. “You’re coming home, then? Already?”

Rin laughed – short, sharp, completely without humor – and paused to check the schedule and destinations listed on the other side of the glass vestibule. The air-conditioning was too high – the back of Rin’s neck was cold. “You thought I’d be staying?”

“Well,” Kai began, voice hesitant. “I just thought that…you know, you and Kite…”

“That’s over,” Rin interrupted. There was no trace of bitterness in his tone, despite the anger and frustration he harbored, still. “I knew it was over before I got here, but you know me. I’m st-”

“You’re _not_ stupid,” Kai told him sternly. “Rinrin, do you even know where you’re going?”

“Meh, vaguely. I got here okay, didn’t I?”

“Fine, but call me when you get to Naha and I’ll come and get you, okay?”

Rin nodded and stuck his tongue out at the snooty little college girl who was staring at him like she’d just smelled something bad. She scowled and turned away, skirt brushing the backs of her pretty, tanned legs as she went. _Bitch._

“Okay,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, Yuujiroh.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I swear it this time.”

The smile evident in Kai’s voice was as clear as Rin’s certainty that he’d forced it. “I guess you don’t need me to talk him down to you, huh?”

Rin smiled. “It’s not all his fault. I should have seen it coming.”

“Well, whatever. You’re gonna be on that ferry forever, you know. Why didn’t you just catch a flight?”

Rin was silent for a moment. He let his eyes drift closed and he cleared his mind – thinking of home and of the beach and the sea and the sun at his back. As much as it saddened him to admit it, he hadn’t left his heart in Fukuoka, after all. Okinawa was still his home.

“I don’t mind the trip, really. I want to be near the water. I need some time.”

Kai grunted, wanting to object but understanding all the same. “Yeah, yeah. Just come home, Rinrin. We’ll be waiting for ya.”

And they would be. They always were.

“I know you will. I’ll call you.”

When he snapped his phone shut, slipping it into his pocket so that all but his Domo-kun phone strap was tucked safely inside, he tugged the band from his hair and shook it out. The air-strip tossed it about his shoulders and he tipped his face up to catch a blast of air. He shivered, but smoothed his hair down and strolled along the walkway, humming some calypso tune that Tanishi’s mother used to sing when she baked sweets for them after practice.

It felt good to go home and know that he wasn’t going to leave again. He had new plans to make. Even if, for the first time in a long time, those plans didn’t include Eishirou.

+++

He’d lain in bed long after he’d awakened – eyes closed, breathing slow and steady even as the sunlight filtered over him and the empty space beside him. The space that Rin had occupied hours before but occupied no longer.

Kite had not been awake when Rin had risen, but he’d known that he was gone even before he’d opened his eyes. Masochist that he was, he couldn’t help asking himself if he would have asked Rin to stay had he been awake to see him go. The right answer, the one that made him less of a bastard, was not the one he could claim. Not if he were going to be honest with himself.

Last night, touching Rin, fucking him, hadn’t felt good like it used to. Some part of Kite had felt too much an observer to lose himself in Rin’s sweet kisses. Last night, his kisses hadn’t been so sweet. Rin had likely known it was over the moment he’d looked into Kite’s eyes and Kite could say this unequivocally as he’d known it, himself. It was typical of them, though, to want to hang on – to want to keep pushing forward. Never say die – never surrender. Never let them see you cry.

That was what they used to be, though; it was how they’d begun. Kite knew it was naive to think that something so uncertain, something formed at such an unstable time in their lives, could last forever. Nostalgia and a lingering emotion was not enough to build a lifetime on. It was a fantasy. _Rin_ was a fantasy – some beautiful, elusive beachboy who would always be important to Kite but still lacked what Kite needed the most in a partner. He felt guilty for not recognizing their incompatibility sooner, but reasoned that he was young, too. He was bound to trip up once in a while – no matter that he felt his self-control and self-knowledge were absolute.

He cared for Rin, loved him in some way, still. But it hadn’t been enough. He didn’t feel as though he should have to bear the burden of guilt for something so completely unintentional.

He could say that Tezuka Kunimitsu had absolutely nothing to do with it, but he’d be lying. The winds of change had come in the form of a one-time rival and Kite had been able to feel the difference when he and Tezuka had parted ways. He’d closed the book on Rin’s chapter, but felt certain that the chapter he was about to begin would focus nearly completely on Tezuka. He reminded himself, when he opened his eyes to glance at the smooth, empty sheets that Rin had lay on, that if he and Rin had been that perfect fit, he would never have felt so strongly about Tezuka in the first place. The first time Kite had touched him – the first time Tezuka had reciprocated – Kite had realized that he’d found something _different_. Something powerful and right.

He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. His hair hung in his eyes and he blinked once or twice, tossing his head and sweeping his unruly bangs aside to peer at the mirror across the room. Even before he’d put his glasses on, he could see that Rin’s picture was gone. He’d taken it with him – taken all traces of himself and fled – and the sense of finality that Kite experienced was sobering, staggering.

It was over. His obligation to Rin was no more and he could follow his heart the way he’d never been moved to follow it in the past. Tezuka moved him. Tezuka intrigued him. And Kite knew that what they’d shared had not been enough – would _never_ be enough.

He straightened, reached for his glasses and slid them into place. Rin’s bag was gone and all that remained of him at all was the outline of dust on the mirror where his picture used to be.

Kite bowed his head and let the surge of determination wash over him. He knew, when his heart swelled and his stomach flipflopped, that he wasn’t going to wait for Tezuka to come to _him_.

There had only been one time in his life that he’d experienced an unexpected loss and he’d vowed – on the plane trip home, with Rin on one side and Kai on the other – that he would never accept so disheartening a defeat again. Not ever.

Since that night, he’d never experienced a determination quite so consuming. But now, he did. He was consumed. _Tezuka_ consumed him.

“Tezuka,” he said aloud and, of course, no one answered. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as he said it again, to himself this time.

It was unintended – Tezuka was unintended – but never before had Kite felt so certain, so strongly about something.

Unintended. But it was only a matter of time.  


 


	7. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Tezuka didn’t have any curtains. Ryoma wasn’t at all surprised.

He opened the shades to peer out of the window and into the street. “You’re gonna be late, Buchou,” he called, letting the shade fall closed again when he turned to lean against the wall and sip his ponta.

Emerging from the bedroom, fastening the top button on his shirt, Tezuka frowned and glanced at the clock that hung over the sink in the kitchen. “If I don’t make any stops on the way, I’ll be fine.”

Ryoma sniffed, tipping his head back and draining his soda can. “But you didn’t eat, yet.”

Tezuka frowned, sparing Ryoma a wry glance and running a hand through already perfectly tousled hair. “Perhaps if you hadn’t burned the last of the bread, that wouldn’t be the case.”

Ryoma pursed his lips, took careful aim at the trashcan beside the breakfast bar and tossed the empty can in a perfect arc to land directly inside it. Offering Tezuka a cheerful little smile, he nudged his cap up with one knuckle. “Hey, it’s not my fault your oven is a hundred years old.”

Tezuka grunted and shouldered his bag. “Rather interesting that I never seem to have any problems using it.”

“Che. You’re used to it, that’s all.”

Declining to respond to Ryoma’s teasing, Tezuka swept his keys from the counter and tucked them into his pocket. “I do apologize for sleeping late. I’d intended that we go out for breakfast. As it is, I’m only just going to make it to class and I have a workshop today.”

Shouldering his own travel bag, Ryoma merely shrugged. “Meh, no biggie. I’ll grab something before I hop on the train.”

“Mm,” Tezuka hummed, standing back to allow Ryoma to step outside before locking the door behind him. “Where are you going?”

“Gonna go see the old folks for a week or so. Mom’s been nagging me.”

Tezuka nodded, hand sliding along the railing as the descended the steps together and Ryoma added, “Oh, and on the tenth I’m going to some thing that Fuji-senpai is having. Some kinda engagement party.”

Blinking, Tezuka stepped out onto the sidewalk. He held the door for Ryoma and glanced over his shoulder. “Shuusuke’s getting married?”

Ryoma shrugged again. “Beats the hell out of me. I didn’t have time to read the whole email.” Noticing the carefully blank expression on Tezuka’s face, he nudged his elbow. “What? You didn’t get an invite yet? That doesn’t sound right, does it?”

Tezuka frowned. “With Shuusuke, it’s hard to tell.”

Ryoma laughed, “Well, I wouldn’t sweat it, Buchou. There’s no way Fuji-senpai would walk down the aisle without you there to carry his bouquet.”

Barely sparing him a glance, Tezuka again declined to respond to Ryoma’s teasing and made a mental note to touch base with Fuji sometime that evening. Just past Tezuka’s apartment building, they paused. Ryoma turned to face Tezuka and – for what _certainly_ wasn’t the first time since he’d grown tall enough to meet Tezuka’s gaze evenly – offered him that familiar, smug little half-smile. “Gonna miss me?”

Lips quirking, Tezuka checked his watch again. Ryoma’s bus was due in the next ten minutes. “Do you ask everyone those kinds of questions?”

“What do you think?” he countered, fishing a tin of cinnamon mints out of his pockets and tapping them against the palm of his hand. He motioned to Tezuka with the tin and Tezuka shook his head once to decline.

“I think you like to unnerve me,” he answered after a moment. “You never used to like it quite so much.”

Ryoma grinned, tone heavy with innuendo. “I was just a dumb kid. I didn’t know how much fun it could be.”

Tezuka blushed, in spite of himself, and frowned in quick recovery. “You used to be such a-”

“Tezuka,” someone called out and Tezuka glanced sharply over his shoulder to see Kite Eishirou striding along the sidewalk. Headed right for him. One word – just his name – and Tezuka’s heart had taken up residence somewhere in the middle of his throat.

As difficult as it was to tear his gaze away from the picture Kite made, Tezuka stole a quick, guarded glance at Ryoma, whose expression was just as impassive as it had been a moment before. And why wouldn’t it be? Tezuka reasoned. Ryoma knew nothing of Kite. At least, nothing beyond the bad news he’d been nine years ago.

Today, though – dressed in loose, tightly belted military-style pants and a white t-shirt and looking for all the world like he had a score to settle - Tezuka was hard-pressed to recall Kite in any sort of unfavorable light.

Not when his only coherent thought was that he knew how it felt wrap his legs around those whipcord hips for the ride of his life.

Tezuka rubbed his face, disgusted for the direction his thoughts had taken. One look at Kite had successfully derailed any decent train of thought he might have taken. Even more humiliating was that Ryoma was here to witness it.

“Kite,” he returned, light and casual.

Eyes as dark as his expression, Kite glanced quickly at Ryoma before settling his attention solely on Tezuka. “You’re leaving?”

“I have class. Ryoma is on his way back to Tokyo,” Tezuka offered stiffly.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Ryoma rocked back on his heels. “Didn’t even get breakfast, first.”

The murderous look in Kite’s eyes was quite enough to quell Ryoma’s speculation as to whom Tezuka had been frolicking around with in dreamland last night. Kite Motherfucking Eishirou. If he hadn’t been so irritated, Ryoma thought he might have even laughed.

“Tezuka,” he said again, in quite a different manner than before and it wasn’t the tone of his voice that gave Ryoma pause so much as Tezuka’s response to it. Ryoma was left with the feeling that – had he not been present – Tezuka might have capitulated. He knew Tezuka – knew him better than himself, sometimes – and he knew that look, that careful way he held himself; Tezuka was in full-defensive mode. Ryoma frowned.

“I’m going to be late, Kite,” he said. “Now isn’t a good time.”

He took a step forward. “When’s a good time, then?”

Flushed, uncomfortable and as close to fidgeting as Ryoma had ever seen him, Tezuka gripped the bag’s strap and straightened his shoulders. Ryoma imagined that Kite did not miss the sudden drop in temperature.

“I can’t say. I don’t know that there is a good time.”

Kite blinked, clearly stung. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Tezuka, I-”

Hands still in his pocket, Ryoma felt around – obvious and exaggerated. “I’m gonna… throw something away. I’ll be right back.”

Kite didn’t acknowledge him, but Ryoma could feel that hard glare at his back. He didn’t look back and, instead, lingered near a public garbage receptacle a few yards away.

With Ryoma gone, Kite stepped even closer to Tezuka, touched his arm, leaned in close. Tezuka stiffened. “Don’t.”

“Why? Why are you acting like nothing happened?” Tone hard, Kite gaze darted minutely in Ryoma’s direction. “It’s because of _him_ , isn’t it? Are you fucking that little runt?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He’d known it before the words had left his lips but – being Kite – had been wholly unable to prevent giving voice to them.

Tezuka looked up, eyes narrowed behind his lenses. “This is not about him. Leave him out of it.”

“I’m trying,” Kite said, jaw clenched. “I’d like for you to do the same.”

“I told you once already, Kite. What happened between us was a mistake. I have no intention of making the same mistake twice.”

Snide, hurt, Kite sneered and gripped Tezuka’s elbow. “It’s a little late for that,” he said. “We made that mistake twice already. Or did you forget?”

Shaking Kite’s hand off, Tezuka gave him a look that used to be enough to silence a room. Kite was unmoved, however. And that pissed Tezuka off.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, irritated that Kite had the power to push him to this point and angry that he was unable to control it. “Don’t presume, Kite. We had sex. Nothing else.”

“Liar,” he hissed. “You didn’t want to let me go, Tezuka. I could see it in your eyes.”

Tezuka blushed, whether from anger or embarrassment at having been so easily read, he couldn’t have said. All that mattered was that Kite Eishirou wanted to draw lines in the sand and Tezuka had been unprepared for it.

“I don’t want you, Kite,” he said, voice hard. If he hadn’t thought him incapable, he’d have sworn that Kite had actually flinched. “There’s nothing between us and nothing to pursue. Let it go.”

Kite stood, scowling and looking – impossibly – even more tempting than he’d been before. Tezuka held his ground, steeled himself. Whatever his desire for Kite Eishirou, it would never amount to anything permanent – anything real. Reciprocal love was an illusion and he’d sworn, long before Kite, that he would never allow himself to be fooled again. He took a step back.

“Don’t follow me. Don’t come here again. Just…” he shook his head, at a loss for words when he should have had plenty to say. “Just go, Kite.”

Turning, not looking back to watch Kite walk away, Tezuka headed toward Ryoma. His back was straight and his gait was sure but his heart wavered in indecision. It wasn’t fair, what he’d said, but it had been necessary. The very last thing he needed was to allow Kite Eishirou under his skin. He had a very real suspicion that – once there – Kite would not be so easily removed. Most frightening was Tezuka’s near-certainty that he would not _want_ to remove him.

Ryoma turned, as he approached, and when he hesitated, faltering for a moment, Ryoma shook his head and glanced at his watch. “Told you.”

“What?” Tezuka blinked, still out of sorts and unable to hide it. “Told me what?”

“You’re late, Buchou.”

Tezuka sighed, shoulders rising and falling in obvious defeat and Ryoma laughed, happy to pretend that he hadn’t witnessed Tezuka’s jealous hothead of a boyfriend storming along the sidewalk to have it out like some misplaced Romeo. There would be time for recriminations later – when Tezuka didn’t have that guarded look on his face.

“That was-” he began, fingers tight at the strap of his bag. Ryoma clenched his hand, bumped Tezuka’s fist with his own.

“Some other time, Buchou. You’ll miss your class and I’ll miss my bus. And you’ll be stuck with me another night.”

Hesitant still, Tezuka looked down, brows drawn. Ryoma ducked to catch his gaze again. “Everything’s cool. Go ahead.”

When Tezuka looked up, he nodded once. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Ryoma tugged the brim of his cap down to hide his smile. “Not if I see you first.”

Tezuka paused, looking as though he might say something else, but when Ryoma stood where he was – expression unchanged – he nodded again and took a step backward. He met Ryoma’s eyes, just for a moment, before he turned to stride away from him. Ryoma watched him go, waited until he’d disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to hurry in the opposite direction – in pursuit of Kite.

It wasn’t difficult to spot him on the sidewalk; he was taller than most and strode along as though he expected whomever was in his path to _move_. “Hey you!” Ryoma called, dodging a group of old ladies and jogging along near the buildings that lined the street. When he didn’t slow, didn’t turn, Ryoma called out – louder this time, “Hey Hitman, hold up!”

He turned, expression forbidding, back and shoulders tense. He made no move to meet Ryoma half-way and he ascertained that Kite Eishirou had turned out to be as much of a tight-ass as Tezuka was.

He didn’t speak, merely stared at Ryoma impassively through his lenses when he approached.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said, sarcasm thinly veiled.

Kite stared pointedly. “As though I had a choice. You were causing a scene.”

Blinking – all innocence – Ryoma tucked his hands in his back pockets and regarded Kite casually. “You think that was a scene? You don’t get out much, do you?”

“What do you want?” Kite asked, his irritation evident. Being given the brush-off had been humiliating enough, having Echizen Ryoma present to witness the whole thing was unthinkable.

Ryoma pulled his cap back to settle it more firmly on his head and Kite watched him closely, studying him, assessing him – wanting to see what Tezuka saw in the hopes that he might begin to understand why _he_ was not good enough where this cocky little shrimp _was_.

Shrugging, Ryoma tilted his head to meet Kite’s eyes. He would never be as tall as Kite, but he was a much more worthy opponent now than he’d been way back when. “Just wanting a little info, that’s all. You know how that goes, right?”

“I doubt that I know anything that you don’t,” Kite said. “And I can’t imagine that we have anything to say to one another, in any event.”

“Che. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m not your competition.”

Having the decency to appear embarrassed, Kite glanced around as though to reassure himself that no one was listening in on their conversation – such as it was. “What makes you think-”

Ryoma snorted. “Spare me the runaround; I don’t have the patience for it.”

When Kite didn’t immediately respond, Ryoma went on. He didn’t have time to tiptoe around Kite’s delicate feelings – he had a bus to catch. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tezuka, but I want you to know that he’s had a rough time of it in the past few months.”

Kite remained silent, but his interest was obvious; Ryoma had his attention. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t dick around with him just so you could settle an old score.”

Eyes narrowing, jaw tightening, Kite hesitated a moment before he spoke. “I’d appreciate it if you minded your own fucking business.”

Ryoma smiled, easy and calm, and didn’t back down the way Kite no doubt expected him to. “Tezuka _is_ my business.”

Kite’s glasses glinted and his lips quirked in the barest imitation of a smirk. Ryoma watched him – entertained and interested – and imagined that he could understand a bit of what might attract Tezuka to the man Kite had become.

“He’s my business, also. My close, personal, _recent_ business, if we’re going to be completely open, here.”

Ryoma shrugged. He’d known that, already. “So what? So you fucked him. That doesn’t give you any special rights and from where I was standing, it looked like he gave you the kiss-off back there.”

At Kite’s scowl, Ryoma went on smoothly. “No more _business_ for you, I guess.”

“I hope you don’t think his little temper tantrum will deter me in the least.”

Surprisingly enough, Ryoma laughed. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Kite said. “That’s so.”

After a moment, Ryoma sobered, shouldering his bag and nodding slowly. “Well, whatever. I won’t be around to referee, but I’ll say this.”

Kite waited, appearing as unmoved as Ryoma did, though they both knew that he was not.

“Tezuka and I have shared some impressive rivals over the years. Sanada. Atobe.” He paused, very nearly smiling. “I always hoped I’d get a shot at you, too, one day.”

Sanada. Atobe. Both very formidable opponents – strong, worthy rivals. And Ryoma had bested them both. That he did not question his ability to best Kite – and perhaps not merely where tennis was concerned – was quite clear. Kite frowned. Cocky, mouthy little bastard.

They stood – still and challenging, neither willing to look away first – and even the sudden lurch and groan of an approaching bus wasn’t enough to break the silence between them. After a moment, Kite leaned in close and smiled.

“That’s too bad,” he murmured. “I don’t play anymore.”

They were close – uncomfortably close – and Ryoma simply held his gaze. “That’s okay. It doesn’t always have to be about tennis, right?” He smiled helpfully, as though he hadn’t spent the majority of his life making _everything_ about tennis.

Kite straightened then, cool and in control once more, and said archly, “Nice to see you again.”

Ryoma didn’t respond and, instead, watched Kite turn to mount his bike – long legs and confident grace – and he grinned. “Hey. Hitman.”

Seated on his bike, Kite paused, helmet resting on the seat between his legs.

Ryoma glanced back once – his bus was already gone. “Wanna give me a ride? I just missed my bus.”

+++

Chinen would have told him not to make a scene. He knew that. Knew it and repeated it to himself as though it were his own personal mantra and always had been, but it wasn’t helping all that much.

Rin was furious.

“Young man,” the man behind the counter began: all exaggerated patience. “If you’re not planning on purchasing a ticket, please step aside.”

Ignoring him, Rin set his bag on the counter and rummaged through it, grumbling under his breath all the while. He’d packed up all of his belongings in the apartment he’d once shared with Kite – and a few that weren’t his at all – and had somehow, stupidly, ridiculously managed to leave his wallet.

“This is unbelievable,” he groused. “I took my pictures, his favorite t-shirt, the good cd’s and his mother’s teapot and I left my wallet.”

Looking up through shaggy bangs, Rin asked, “My frigging wallet – can you believe this?”

The man leaned in, rested his chin in the palm of his hand and sighed. “If it means you’ll move aside? No, I can’t believe it.”

“Dammit! And he’ll find it and after he sees what I took, he’ll make me kiss his ass before he’ll give it back.”

He kicked the counter and zipped his bag furiously. “Shit! And I don’t have enough money on me to get back to his place.”

The man behind the counter yawned. “Sir…”

“Dammit!” Rin exclaimed again. “ I really can’t believe this!”

From the back of the line, an old woman shook her handbag and pounded the floor with her cane. “Move it or lose it, Sonny!” she yelled. “Some of us are old; we haven’t got much time left!”

Snatching his bag off the counter, Rin scowled in the old woman’s general direction and raked a hand through his hair. Just behind the old woman was the pretty girl he’d seen earlier. She was even prettier close-up and – when Rin caught her eye – she smirked at him.

 _Bitch_.

Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the exit, bag over his shoulder and bouncing against his back. He was glad he’d taken the last bottle of water out of the fridge that morning - it was a long walk back to Kite’s.

+++

Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm and yawning widely, Ryoma looked around for a moment while he stuffed his cap into the travel bag he carried. As naked as he felt without it, the hat made him too recognizable by far and the very last thing he wanted was to be mobbed by squealing girls and aspiring young tennis players. He’d just spent the past twenty minutes hanging on tight to Kite Eishirou – which was all manner of wrong by itself – and the exhaust on the highway had given him a splitting headache. Besides that, his ass still felt as though it were vibrating. Ryoma detested motorcycles – his brother owned three.

It was early yet and since he had some time to kill, he pulled out his mobile to check his email. There was a message from his mother, two from Momo, one from Eiji and several from Kirihara Akaya. Ryoma frowned – he knew what Kirihara’s messages would entail. Likely he was restless and wanted to find some trouble to get into. Seeing no response to the email he’d sent the night before, he flipped through his messages once more, merely in the interests of being thorough.

But there was no response from Atobe.

Screw Kirihara. He could go hang out with that fat-ass, bubble-gum-popping cake decorator that he spent so much time with – Ryoma was on a mission.

While he had some time, though, he decided to fire off another love note to his favorite Monkey King. By the time he finished visiting with the parentals, Ryoma knew that he would be in need of one hell of a respite. One that didn’t involve red velvet cake or beer bongs or those cherry bombs that Niou Masaharu was still so proud of.

Just outside the men’s bathroom, he lounged against the wall and flipped through his phone menu. He knew he’d have to message Atobe through his email as it would be all too easy for him to discover Ryoma’s mobile number.

_Tezuka’s riding the hobby-horse with some guy with weird hair. He’s taller than you. So how about that match? Thought about it yet?_

Snickering to himself, he snapped his phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket. The game was on. It felt good to play it again.

+++

After dropping Tezuka’s runt – who wasn’t a runt any longer and _that_ bothered the hell out of him – off at the station, Kite visited the library. He’d spent several hours at a table in the corner and while he told himself he was studying, he knew that he was really just hiding.

He read about medical socioeconomics, epidemiology, alternative medicine – he even started a chapter on geriatrics – but it was simply no good. As immersed as he’d intended on becoming in his coursework, he couldn’t seem to push Tezuka to the back of his mind. No, he was there, at the very forefront, wreaking havoc on Kite’s concentration and reminding him – again – that he was weak for letting Tezuka get under his skin this way.

With one text open before him and three more in queue besides, he’d stared at the characters on the white, smooth pages and simply let them all run together when his thoughts began to stray again. Tezuka’s expression, his words, had allowed no room for argument and Kite had somehow managed to hold his tongue in the face of such magnificent vehemence. Echizen had spoken of worthy opponents and Kite had understood immediately, though his thoughts had veered somewhat. In all his life – in all the matches he’d played – no one had been a more worthy rival than Tezuka Kunimitsu. It was merely unfortunately for Kite that he was so unable to express his admiration and wholly ironic that he’d had no interest in expressing so absent an emotion in the past.

That he would find himself so wrapped up in Tezuka and the idea of being close to him was a surprise that Kite could never have anticipated. Still – foresight or no – here he was, experiencing it, and he could admit to himself that it was not upsetting to him in the least. Frustrating, yes. Time and thought-consuming, yes. But he was not upset. What he was, he finally realized, was obsessed. Two days did not a relationship make, but Kite knew that it had been enough to discover precisely what it was that he wanted.

He wanted to possess Tezuka and be possessed in return. He wasn’t interested in winning or getting the last word or amusing himself with what would certainly be an exciting chase. He was interested in Tezuka – in knowing him and learning about him and touching him. He wanted reciprocation and he didn’t intend to settle for anything less.

Even as he continued to build himself up with his own fancy, however, he knew that such a task would not be so easily done. Tezuka did not love him. Beyond that, it was entirely possible that it was Echizen that he wanted – had always wanted – or that he still harbored feelings for Atobe Keigo. Both possibilities infuriated him. Both possibilities spurred him on.

He closed the books and left them on the table; the librarian would prefer to shelve them again rather than risk someone else possibly shelving them in the wrong place. He walked quickly along the sidewalk and wiped his cheek when a single drop of rain landed there, startling him.

Glancing up at the sky, he adjusted his glasses and wondered if he would get where he was going before the sun set and the rain fell. He knew it would hold little consequence, either way. He would not be deterred.

+++

Tezuka’s workshop had ended just before lunch. As he’d put his notebook and pen away and recognized the faint hunger stirring his belly, he’d glanced at the clock over the projection screen and sighed. The day was half over. That mean that he had the other half to reflect on that which he’d sworn he would not continue to revisit.

He felt guilty for what had transpired that morning. His too-abrupt goodbye with Ryoma, his unreasonable, unfair attack on Kite – both had not been his intention and that it was too late to change each outcome bothered him unnecessarily.

Kite had been surprised – there had been nothing of the swagger and entitlement that Tezuka had been expecting – and Ryoma had been characteristically passive about the whole scene, no matter that Tezuka felt certain there would be questions about it, later. Despite his fear that his relationship with Kite would be exposed, there had been no denying the surge of excitement he’d experienced at seeing Kite again – so soon after they’d parted ways. That he seemed as caught up in Tezuka as Tezuka felt he was, himself was nearly unthinkable. It was not his habit to actively participate in healthy relationships that made sense – indeed it seemed as though he were entirely incapable of it. That knowledge alone made it very difficult to accept that he secretly wanted Kite so badly. With his track-record and propensity for emotional disaster, Tezuka knew it could only end badly. Better for the both of them, then, that it never begin at all.

Having spent the past few hours tidying his apartment, doing laundry, making out a grocery list and opening the kitchen window in anticipation of a good, soothing rain, Tezuka felt as though his spirits – no matter that his thoughts were still so conflicted – were beginning to lift. He missed Ryoma and wished that he’d been better company for him, but the solitude he was currently enjoying made regret seem too removed from him to bother attempting to recapture. He would call Ryoma later to make certain that he’d arrived safely and then he would feel normal again.

Stretching idly, he padded into the kitchen and hummed to himself while he filled the teapot. Tonight it would be gyokuro and daifuku that his mother had sent and he would wrap himself in his favorite blanket in the chair before the window and he would read and sip tea and if thoughts of Kite Eishirou plagued him at all, he would take care not to allow them to consume him as he feared that they might.

He set the teapot aside, not ready yet to allow it to boil, and opened the small, tightly packed box his mother had wrapped so carefully. He smiled, thinking about her preparing them specifically for him while his father and grandfather attempted to steal pieces for themselves. He missed his family, but not enough to send him home. Though they meant well, they all had a tendency to hover and hovering unnerved Tezuka. He’d sometimes felt as though their expectations were such that he would be required to perform for them as long as they lived. It was good to be loved, but the pressure could be overwhelming. That they’d accepted his decision to study something other than medicine had been a bit of a shock to him, honestly. He smiled, realizing that Kite was unknowingly fulfilling Tezuka’s family’s dreams. He only wished it could have been as important to him as it had been to them. As it appeared to be to Kite.

The rain fell then, not softly as before, and Tezuka closed his eyes when the faint breeze reached him through the open window. He stood that way, before the counter and holding the box of sweets and merely enjoying the rush of rainwater and cool, soothing breeze until the familiar rumble of a motorcycle’s engine penetrated his very enjoyable, very peaceful reverie. Startled, he opened his eyes and lay the box down, reasoning that there were plenty of other people in the area who rode motorcycles and just because he couldn’t seem to push Kite out of his thoughts didn’t mean that Tezuka could conjure him from thin air.

Still and all, he moved to the window overlooking the street and felt his chest tighten and his belly lurch when Kite eased up to the curb and glanced up at the building. Tezuka moved back, startled, and experienced an immediate embarrassment for his reaction. He had no reason to hide and no reason at all to suspect that Kite knew which window would be his. That he was so afraid of catching Kite’s eye told him that it was fear alone that made him want to hide and such a revelation was not only unwelcome but insulting as well.

He moved back to the window, parting the shade to watch Kite dismount and slip off his helmet. He stood on the sidewalk, helmet pressed against his belly and face turned heavenward, as though he weren’t standing in the pouring rain.

After a moment, Tezuka raised the shade and pressed his palm to the glass and he knew the moment that Kite had spotted him. Taking off his glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket, Kite wiped his eyes and stared up at Tezuka. From this distance, without benefit of his glasses, Tezuka knew he couldn’t see much. But still he didn’t move.

His hair was plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face. His pants were dark and soaked through and his t-shirt was transparent. Tezuka stared at him, taking the opportunity to study him when Kite could not unnerve him with those eyes – with that intensity. He’d told Kite to go away – and not to come back – but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t happy on some level that he hadn’t obeyed.

The sun was gone, hidden behind clouds that seemed to have settled in for the duration; there would be no true sunset today. When Kite wiped his eyes again, blinking against the rain that continued to fall, Tezuka weakened. Whatever this was – wherever it was going – he could not ignore it. He could not ignore Kite.

Quick on the stairs – not waiting for the elevator – Tezuka remembered that he was not dressed to go out. His track pants were faded and his t-shirt was oversized and worn. The sandals he’d slipped on had seen better days and his hair was a tousled mess. But there was no one in the lobby and when he pushed open one of the double doors leading out onto the front stairs, he paused. Kept dry by the awning overhead, he gripped the railing and took a step outside.

“Kite.”

Kite turned, the look in his eyes so similar to the one Tezuka recalled when he’d realized he could not best Tezuka so long ago that Tezuka was momentarily speechless. The moment stretched between them – silent, heavy – and Kite took a step forward.

It was there in his eyes, in the way he held himself; he’d never intended to stay away, despite Tezuka’s demand that he do exactly that.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, voice rising to be heard over the rain and he shook his head, took another few, hopeful steps forward. “Don’t tell me to go.”

Tezuka stared at him, standing his ground though his heart was pounding, and searched for something suitable to say. He’d asked him to go just that morning and had meant every word. Now, though, with nothing but the rain and a just a few feet between them, he wasn’t so certain. There were no words that he could offer, however, that would salvage his pride if he admitted his uncertainty to Kite. And so he held his silence and Kite’s gaze and stepped out into the rain. It was cold against his skin and the breeze wasn’t quite so serene, standing in it as he was, and though he didn’t speak, his desire was clear enough.

Within seconds, Kite was crossing the sidewalk and climbing the stairs and when he paused, just one step below Tezuka, he looked up. His eyelashes were spiky with rainwater and his face was wet and his lips trembled from the chill.

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to come in out of the rain?” Tezuka asked, for want of anything better to say.

“I’ve never been much for doing what I’m supposed to,” he said, stepping up to stand closer to Tezuka. They were close and Kite was shivering and if they hadn’t been standing out on the front stairs of his apartment complex, Tezuka thought he might have been the one to initiate contact this time.

Instead, he took Kite’s helmet and touched his hand. “Come inside. You’re soaked through.”

Kite followed, standing back while Tezuka pushed the elevator’s call button and when he followed him inside, he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. Tezuka snuck a few glances at him, not openly staring and saying nothing. Kite didn’t mind – he wasn’t certain if he should be apologizing to Tezuka or demanding that Tezuka apologize to _him_.

The third time he caught Tezuka’s hesitant gaze, though, he didn’t care who apologized to whom. Just as long as Tezuka intended to touch him again.

Stepping forward, slow and careful, he advanced when Tezuka retreated and when he pressed one palm flat to the elevator wall, he leaned in closer. Water ran in rivulets down his cheeks and the slope of his nose and when he stood over Tezuka, dripping water copiously, he caught his gaze.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

“Why are you pursuing me?” Tezuka returned. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”

Kite’s jaw tightened and he raised his other hand to touch Tezuka’s neck. “I don’t know,” he managed, finally. “I wish I knew why, but I don’t.”

The elevator pinged and Tezuka pushed him away, frowning at the wet carpet even as he led Kite back to his apartment. His answer hadn’t been what Tezuka had wanted to hear, but he reasoned – as he opened the door – that the correct answer probably didn’t exist.

Once inside, Tezuka slipped off his shoes and lay Kite’s helmet on the kitchen counter while he unlaced his boots and peeled off his dripping socks. Looking haplessly at Tezuka, he nudged his boots aside and tried to keep his socks from dripping on the floor.

“Come on,” Tezuka said, turning toward the bathroom. “I’ll get you a towel and some dry clothes.”

Kite followed, still shivering and glancing around quickly. Tezuka’s apartment was precisely as he’d imagined it would be and when he noticed the items lying near the stove, he suspected he’d interrupted Tezuka’s dinner.

Handing him a towel, Tezuka stood back to wait. Something in the way he regarded Kite made the situation even more awkward than it had to be and as Kite began to towel his hair, Tezuka made to slip past him.

Effectively blocking the doorway with his arm, Kite draped the towel over his shoulders and took a step forward, crowding Tezuka. He wanted to force a confrontation, wanted to demand that Tezuka tell him precisely why he wasn’t good enough to talk to – to make time with – when he’d seemed plenty good enough to fuck.

Everything he couldn’t say, however, was clearly expressed in the look that they shared and when Tezuka offered a hundred arguments without ever speaking a word, Kite realized that he’d been going about this the wrong way. Tezuka didn’t want words, he wanted _feeling_.

Kite found that he was more than happy to oblige. He’d never been much for small talk.

It was all too easy to back Tezuka against the door, to get one hand in that messy hair and the other at his beautiful ass and press his mouth to Tezuka’s. Almost immediately, he parted his lips and when he tilted his head and closed his eyes and twisted Kite’s sopping t-shirt around his fingers, it became suddenly, perfectly clear.

Tezuka understood _this_. He knew his own heart and his own desires, but he didn’t know Kite’s. He couldn’t be sure – couldn’t take the chance. It was all right; Kite didn’t mind – he wasn’t much of a risk-taker himself.

Gathering Tezuka against him, both arms around his waist now, Kite pushed his tongue into Tezuka’s mouth and moaned when Tezuka reciprocated. Tezuka was tall, he was well-built, but when Kite bent his knees to hoist him up, he went easily enough. On tiptoes, he wound his arms around Kite’s neck and hooked one ankle behind Kite’s leg.

Moving, pressing him against the opposite wall, Kite rubbed against him and breathed hard against his lips when he finally broke the kiss to speak. “Bedroom,” was all he said and Tezuka nodded to his right and curled his fingers over Kite’s shoulders.

“Behind me,” he breathed, bunching the wet fabric in his fists and pulling insistently at it.

Kite didn’t carry him to bed so much as they dragged one another there, tugging at wet clothes and sharing hot, slick kisses while Tezuka attempted to think of any number of reasons why this was not a good idea. But then Kite let him go to pull his t-shirt off one-handed even as he freed the snaps on his pants and Tezuka’s good intentions were completely, irrevocably obliterated.

Spurred into action by Kite’s quick, impatient movements, Tezuka pulled off his own shirt and, though he hesitated for a moment when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, he stripped them off quickly enough when Kite kicked his own aside.

They came together as though they’d spent years apart – kissing and sucking and clawing at one another - and when Kite gripped his ass to haul him that much closer, Tezuka rested his head on Kite’s shoulder and made some quiet, irrefutable sound of surrender and down they both went.

Over Tezuka, Kite straddled his hips, skin cold and damp, and took both his own cock and Tezuka’s in hand to stroke them in tandem. Arching, Tezuka gasped and grabbed handfuls of the blanket. “Eishirou,” he murmured, head back and forth on the pillow when Kite released his cock to grip Tezuka’s hips. He thrust against him, rubbing and humping and nudging Tezuka’s cock, his hip, his belly.

Tezuka bit his lip hard. It felt too, too good to pretend that this was anything other than what he’d truly wanted. “ _God_.”

Bending, Kite kissed his nipples, his collarbone, his cool, damp neck. He nibbled his ear and rubbed his dick against Tezuka’s, his own breath rapid and shallow as his pulse.

“I want this,” he growled, biting Tezuka’s shoulder and thumbing his nipples. “I need this, Tezuka. Don’t push me away without giving me a chance.”

Lips parted, Tezuka gripped Kite’s biceps and writhed beneath him, seeking that perfect, elusive stimulation that Kite was experiencing and that he could not quite reach. Quick, strong, Tezuka rolled Kite to his back and mounted him. He wasted no time in stretching out over him, trapping his cock against Kite’s – slippery and snug between both their bellies – and sliding one hand beneath him to grip the back of his neck. This time – when they kissed – Tezuka controlled everything. The pace, the depth, the frenetic desperation that was just upon them.

“A chance for what?” he asked, despite his desire to maintain his cool detachment. Once inside, he knew, Kite would push and press and insist until they were wound so tightly that Tezuka would be unable to escape. A little reassurance, however, would make it all right. A little reassurance would give him clearance to let go of his control and simply trust. It had been far too long since he’d trusted.

Kite cried out, hands resting at Tezuka’s narrow hips as they moved together – soft bellies and hard, angular hips. “You and me,” was all he could manage, sliding his hands up Tezuka’s back to hold him tight when he recognized his impending release. “Ohgod, Tezuka. Just you and me.”

“Nothing else,” Tezuka said, jaw tight when he buried his face in Kite’s neck and rocked against him. He knew he should explain, knew he should clarify, but he couldn’t.

But then Kite was nodding his agreement and grunting his pleasure and Tezuka squeezed his eyes closed tightly to ride out the storm.

Kite murmured Tezuka’s name, groaning again when Tezuka followed him over and he held him so tightly that he could barely draw breath.

Tezuka knew that he didn’t have to say another word, didn’t need to clarify. Kite understood.


	8. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Kite hummed in his sleep. Like he wanted to talk –had things to say – but couldn’t. Tezuka had not been aware of this particular habit when they’d last spent the night together, but he supposed that his own state of mind and preoccupation with what he’d done had prevented him from noticing any of Kite’s possible idiosyncrasies.

Now, though, with Kite nestled against him – parted lips against his shoulder and long tanned arms wound about him – Tezuka could take the opportunity to reconcile his memory of a Kite that he hadn’t really known with this new, older Kite that he couldn’t seem to leave alone.

For a while, after he’d awakened, Tezuka had not moved. Waking up to damp sheets and cool skin and Kite’s clingy, possessive embrace had cleared his hazy thoughts with startling immediacy and he barely dared to breathe as he went over the afternoon’s events. Kite had come to him; he had not objected. Despite his intentions to the contrary, Kite’s words – Kite’s touch – had seen his defenses so effectively toppled that he was almost ashamed. Had it been another man, another time, another situation, Tezuka doubted that he would feel as he did now. That it was _Kite_ and not merely sex that had managed to turn him inside out was indication enough that some balance had shifted. Something had changed – something vital and within _himself_. He knew that such a realization should have made him happy, but his emotions – his unease and inability to settle himself – were too much a myriad of confusion to allow him such peace.

When he couldn’t seem to look away from Kite, however, or prevent himself from touching his hair, his forehead, Tezuka wondered if tranquility was truly what he craved. The feelings that Kite induced - that restless, uncertain, heart-pounding exhilaration that made hovering just on the edge of reason feel so, so good – was nothing like peace or tranquility. And didn’t he like it? Didn’t he crave it for that reason alone?

Kite’s hair, messy from the rain, obscured his right eye and Tezuka brushed it aside tenderly, warm from the feelings that such intimate touching brought. He tugged the blanket up, touched Kite’s shoulder and wondered at the swell of emotion that he experienced. While he could admit that what he felt had little to do with sex and more to do with the lingering closeness that came after, he was certainly not prepared to put a name to it just yet. He didn’t know Kite – not really – and knew that he would need to guard himself closely. Too much, too soon and he’d find himself in another situation like the one he’d created with Atobe.

Murmuring against his shoulder, Kite snuggled impossibly closer, rubbing his mouth against Tezuka’s skin and burrowing ever closer.

"Lazy bum," Tezuka murmured affectionately, shifting and intending to extricate himself from Kite's embrace in the interests of establishing some manner of boundary when Kite awoke.

Grunting his objection, Kite's fingers curled around Tezuka's wrist and wrapped his arms around him, clinging that much tighter. "Uh-uh," he mumbled, twining his legs with Tezuka's and effectively pinning him in place. "Stay."

Frowning, Tezuka turned in Kite's arms – facing him – to meet his eyes. He took his time, blinking once or twice to gaze at Tezuka – eyes bleary and unfocused. "Where you goin'?"

"We should get up. The sheets are wet and your hair is sticky and…"

He trailed off then, unwilling to say the words and open himself up to possible vulgarity.

With a soft, incredibly self-satisfied sigh, Kite slid one leg between Tezuka's and gripped his bottom to snuggle him closer. "You're sticky and I'm sticky. But I don't want to let you go yet."

Kite was comfortable. Comfortable and almost playful and Tezuka couldn't help but wonder if he remembered what they'd promised to one another. If it had, indeed, been a promise. For all that Tezuka knew of love and healthy relationships, the words they'd spoken to one another might have been nothing more than an impetuous exchange of meaningless words spoken in the heat of the moment. The mere consideration of such a possibility, however, made Tezuka's stomach hurt and his heart sink and he knew precisely what that meant.

He'd somehow managed to get ahead of himself – despite his knowing better – and it scared him. How could he expect Kite to look out for his feelings when he did such a poor job of protecting them, himself?

Averting his eyes, though he didn't move away, Tezuka smoothed one hand over his pillowcase and kept his voice as even as he was able. "One of us will have to let go, eventually," he said.

Running one hand over Tezuka's arms to trace his fingers with the tips of his own, Kite's voice was low and quiet and… _different_. "Why?"

Effectively garnering Tezuka's attention, Kite met his gaze evenly, sincerely. "I don't mind letting go if I know you'll come back again."

He stared at Kite, unsure of what to say or how to say it, and when Kite touched his face, he let his eyes close. "I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted, voice no more than a whisper. It wasn't a secret, not really, but it felt like the worse sort of vulnerability in the face of Kite's confidence and ease. While he was almost certain he shouldn't have said it, he was just as certain that he was entirely unable to hold back.

Shifting closer, rolling him half onto his back, Kite stretched out against him and touched his face. Tezuka's eyes, without the glasses to hinder the view, said more than Kite knew he would ever want to say. Despite his strength and drive and the way he seemed to command respect from whomever he came into contact with, Kite saw the hesitation in his eyes. Kite saw his weakness.

He kissed him softly, framing his face with both hands and parting his lips – slow and reverent – to convey with his touch what he doubted Tezuka would accept, otherwise. To his relief, Tezuka didn't attempt to shut him out or warn him away. He simply clung to Kite and took his kisses as though he'd expected no less.

When Kite pulled back, though he pressed his lips to Tezuka's two or three more times – unable to stop himself – he stroked Tezuka's cheeks with his thumbs and held his gaze for a long, significant moment.

"Neither do I," he said.

They stared at one another, still hanging on tight, and –eventually – Tezuka looked away first. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was a mess and Kite wanted nothing more than to roll him over again. Dirty or not – he wasn't finished.

"We should shower," Tezuka said, finally. "And maybe get something to eat."

Kite smiled, nuzzling Tezuka's neck, his ear, nibbling skin he'd already marked. "If you insist."

When Tezuka shifted again, Kite let him go and he watched from his place on the bed as Tezuka sat up – tugging the blanket over his hips. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the clock hung over the door. "It's still early…," was all that he said and Kite smiled, then.

Without actually extending an invitation, Tezuka was attempting to let him know that he could stay. If he wanted to.

Kite stretched, languid and content, and looked up at Tezuka. From his vantage point, he could see the pale curve of Tezuka's bottom and he smirked a little. "It is."

Tezuka shifted, edging toward the edge of the bed. "I'll…just go shower first. I won't be long."

Only barely managing to disguise his amusement, Kite rolled to one side and propped his head on one fist. "Can't we share?"

Easing the blankets aside, Tezuka turned to face the bathroom – his back to Kite. "Suit yourself."

He rose then, bare ass clenched tight and back as straight as a board as he began to walk away. Kite didn't hesitate even one second more; he kicked off the blankets and climbed out of bed to follow Tezuka. Something in the way he carried himself hinted at a bashfulness, a lack of confidence, despite his nudity. Perhaps it was his deliberate grace; perhaps it wasn't deliberate at all. He knew that he didn't care, however, when Tezuka leaned against the wall to turn on the water.

Behind him, Kite slipped his arms around Tezuka's waist and kissed the back of his neck. Pressed close, he closed his eyes and nosed into the back of Tezuka's hair. "Tezuka," he murmured. Not because he had anything important to say or because he needed to be heard – but because he simply liked the way Tezuka's name felt on his lips.

Passing a hand under the spray, waiting for the water to heat to his liking, Tezuka responded with an absent 'hm?'

Kite smiled, pleased with the circumstances and with himself and with the way Tezuka's smooth, pale ass felt against his groin. He'd have to say something now, though, else Tezuka would likely favor him with a withering glare and climb into the tub without him. Before he could say a word, though, his mobile rang from Tezuka's bedroom and he grew still for a moment, having absolutely no idea as to who might be calling him.

"Mm. One moment. I should get that."

The tone of his voice was indication enough that he wasn't expecting any calls and that he didn't receive many casual ones, besides. Half-turning, letting the warm, soothing water trickle through his fingers, Tezuka watched Kite bend to fish his mobile out of the pocket of his pants.

"The hospital, perhaps?"

Kite snorted, flipping the phone open and winking at Tezuka. "I'm not that important yet."

Lips quirking in an almost smile, Tezuka stood, one hand on the shower door, and watched Kite. From the time the offered a greeting to the first few, clipped words he spoke to whomever was on the other end of the conversation, his expression changed from playful to serious to irritated.

"No, I don't think you did it on purpose," he said, voice low. "I realize that."

There was a long pause and then he sighed. "Look, I'm not going to argue with you. Just wait there. I won't be longer then ten or fifteen minutes."

_Pause._

"I don't think that matters."

Kite glanced up, his expression apologetic when he caught Tezuka's gaze. Apologetic, but there was no mistaking his very carefully controlled anger. It was there in the lines of his shoulders, in the slant of his eyebrows.

Tezuka remembered this side of Kite Eishirou rather well, indeed.

"Ten minutes," he repeated. "Wait for me outside."

Snapping the phone shut, he stood – pissed off and regretful and unabashedly naked – and began to shimmy into his pants. He pulled on his tank top and shoved his phone in his pocket before bending to pull his boots on without benefit of socks. He fairly crackled with irritation; Tezuka was uncertain as to how he should react.

"You have to go," was all that he could say, proud of himself for being matter-of-fact and completely unemotional.

When he'd buckled his boots, he stood, shaking his bangs back and out of his eyes. He took a step toward Tezuka, afraid that he'd ruined everything that might have been tonight by answering that phone call. He'd seen Rin's name on the LCD; he could have let it go to voicemail. He knew, though, that he'd have thought about it all night if he'd done that. In light of Rin's departure that morning, Kite sincerely doubted that he'd purposely leave his wallet behind merely in order to see Kite again. The conversation they'd just shared left no doubt that seeing Kite was not high on Rin's list of priorities at the moment.

He sighed, reaching out to touch Tezuka's arm and very nearly faltering. Tezuka did not move out of his reach.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I really won't be gone long."

Sliding his fingertips along Tezuka's wrist to twine their fingers loosely, Kite recognized the apprehension in Tezuka's eyes. So wary, so hesitant – it was obvious to Kite that Tezuka wanted to ask why he had to go, but couldn't put aside his pride long enough to do so.

"Do you want me to come back?" he asked, hoping that his desire to return was evident. Tezuka glanced down at their joined hands and shrugged a little.

"I…"

Squeezing his hand, Kite stepped close and then closer, still. "Tezuka. It's not a trick question. This isn't a game. Do you want to spend the night together, or not?"

When he looked up again, silent still but with acquiescence clear enough in his eyes, Kite hooked Tezuka's arm around his own neck and brought him close to kiss his mouth. The water kept running and Tezuka closed his eyes and then he leaned into Kite and parted his lips.

"Come back," he murmured, fingers light at the back of Kite's neck.

Murmuring his assent, Kite deepened the kiss, dropping his other hand to Tezuka's hip to hold him as close as he was able. "Right back."

When Tezuka pulled away, letting his fingertips graze Kite's jaw, he leveled him with a familiar, steely gaze. "And then you'll tell me why you had to go."

After a moment – though he'd have agreed straight away, regardless – Kite grinned. Tezuka had been a formidable rival and truly, not much had changed in that respect.

"Hold that shower for me?" he teased.

Tezuka turned away, slid the door open. Before he closed it behind him, he chuckled softly and Kite's certainty that he'd actually heard it was enough to delay his departure just a few seconds more.

"Goodbye, Kite."

Over his shoulder, he called back – loud enough that Tezuka would hear him over the shower spray.

" _Not_ goodbye. Save me some hot water."

+++

It was getting late, though not late enough to thin the crowd at the airport, and Atobe had worried that he would never get a cab. It was sticky outside – damp and humid and shimmery on the concrete – and he loosened his tie and silently bemoaned the current state of his ensemble. He felt as though he'd been left outside to wilt. His hair was limp and his skin felt oily he could very nearly taste the ozone at the back of his throat. That Tezuka seemed content to reside in such surroundings was something that Atobe doubted he would ever understand. As he'd stood on the curb, however - lifting his hand in a casual signal to an approaching cab – Atobe reminded himself that Tezuka had always preferred simplicity.

And as he sat in relative discomfort – in a cab that smelled of stale sweat and very old beer – he realized that it really didn't get much simpler than this. Well, unless one wanted to visit Okinawa, which Atobe did _not_.

"It's up here on the left," the cab driver told him, no doubt eyeing the platinum and diamond tie tac Atobe wore.

Frowning, Atobe tightened the grip on his overnight bag and tugged his overcoat closed over his chest. "Fine, fine. Just pull up at the curb, I'll cross here."

The cab driver chuckled under his breath and Atobe glanced up at the rear-view mirror quickly. He was not above withholding a tip if that filthy drunkard were having a laugh at his expense. The man's expression gave nothing away, however, and Atobe began to scoot toward the far door of the car, reaching into his inside jacket pocket as he went.

"Little warm for a jacket tonight, eh?" the cab driver asked.

Atobe sniffed, thumbing through the bills he carried on his person. "Yes, well," he began, glancing at the meter. "I just flew in from Tokyo."

"No kidding," the man said. It wasn't a question.

Declining to respond, Atobe climbed out of the cab to stand at the crosswalk while he watched the car pull away from the curb and disappear in the darkness. Running a hand through already tousled hair, he slipped off his jacket to drape over one arm and gazed across the street at Tezuka's apartment building. He told himself that it was ridiculous for him to feel nervous. But then, he'd become quite adept at lying to himself. Particularly when it came to Tezuka.

The light changed then and he was halfway across the street when one of the doors to Tezuka's complex swung open. Slowing his steps, Atobe moved closer and watched the man who emerged stride along the sidewalk toward a sleek, black bike parked at the curb. Under the streetlight, amidst the fog and what passed for moonlight – was Kite Eishirou.

Kite Eishirou, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, had just come out of Tezuka's apartment complex and as Atobe stood in the middle of the street – while the cross light flashed its warning – he watched him strap on his helmet, rev the bike's engine and ride off in the opposite direction.

It had been a long time, but Atobe never forgot a face. Or a potential rival.

Kite Eishirou. Tezuka. After the message he'd received earlier regarding Tezuka's recent social ventures, Atobe couldn't bring himself to believe that it might be only a coincidence.

+++

Scanning the sidewalk as he pulled up in front of his apartment, Kite knew better than to expect that Rin would be waiting patiently beneath the streetlight for him. Given his attitude on the phone earlier, it was unlikely that he would be at all accommodating and was likely hiding in shadows in the hopes of jumping out and scaring the hell out of Kite.

But then, Kite reasoned, that was something that only a playful Rin would do. The Rin he'd spoken to earlier had been anything but playful.

"That was quick. I see you didn't have time to shower."

Kite sighed, slipping off his helmet and turning in the direction of Rin's voice. Just behind him – half in shadow – Rin leaned against the building. Arms crossed over his chest, one foot flat against the wall with the duffel slung over his shoulder, he looked appropriately casual and relaxed.

Kite knew him better than that.

"Where have you been all day?" he asked, moving closer. "You were gone before I got up, I don't hear from you all day and you want to turn up this late to tell me you left your wallet?"

Rin frowned. "You think I'm lying? Trust me, Eishirou, the last person I wanted to see tonight was _you_."

Shaking his head and suppressing another sigh, Kite turned toward the door and shook his key ring. "Look, it's late and this is stupid. Come on up and we'll find your wallet."

Pushing away from the wall, Rin trailed behind, hands shoved deep into his pockets and slouching. Kite hated when Rin grew defensive. He was aggressive and unpredictable and not at all easy to control. It was after those uncharitable thoughts, however, that Kite had to admit Rin's attitude toward him was deserved. Despite his behavior – his wildness – he'd always been Kite's responsibility, somehow. Even though his feelings for Rin were unchanged, Kite couldn't shake the feeling that he was washing his hands of him – of their relationship. It hurt; a vague, misplaced sort of hurt that Kite had never experienced and never wanted to again.

"Here we go with the 'stupid' again. Not that I'm surprised, really."

Before Kite could object or find some other mature, reasonable way to curtail the conversation, Rin went on, attempting to shake Kite's cool as they climbed the steps. "So who is he? Some doctor you met at the hospital? Professor, perhaps? Nah, couldn't be – you don't look like some man's boytoy, Eishirou. Not tonight. So I guess that means that you found yourself some sweet little piece of boyass, right? What does he look like – does he look like me?"

At the door to his apartment, Kite turned to face Rin, expression carefully blank. "You're not doing either of us any favors, Rin. Grow up."

Rin snorted, pushing too hard on the front door when Kite held it open for him and slamming it behind him when they'd both gone inside. "Grow up? Roll over and take whatever you want to give me, you mean. So sorry if me having a little dignity offends you."

Kite didn't answer and turned on the lights on the way to his bedroom. He was silent as he moved things on his dresser and knelt to look just under it. Rin lounged in the doorway, all silent condemnation.

"Where did you have it last?" Kite asked, moving aside a shirt to look under it before standing again.

"It's in the bathroom," he said. "I remember."

Kite met his eyes for only a moment – some significant acknowledgment between them – before going into the bathroom. There, on the sink, was Rin's wallet. He held it for a moment, smooth and worn against his fingertips and was surprised to realize just how final this all felt. He'd been wrong before. Last night hadn't been goodbye. _This_ was goodbye.

When he turned again, Rin was just at his back – all barely restrained anger and obvious regret. "Give it to me," was all he said. His voice sounded forced, strained, and Kite pushed his glasses up as he turned to offer Rin the wallet.

"I'm sorry, Rin," was all that he could say. He shouldn't have said it, shouldn't have capitulated – should have called him Hirakoba-kun and said it was fun while it lasted. But he couldn't.

"I didn't plan this, you know. Didn't see it coming. But things were rough between us and then you left and…" he trailed off, shrugging as though it didn't matter – didn't hurt – when it _did_.

Rin took the wallet slowly, searching for some hint of false sincerity and, finding none, asked hesitantly, "Who is he?"

It had occurred to him that maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe his actions had hurt Kite more than he'd ever realized that they could and maybe this whole, ugly mess was nothing more than Kite attempting to salvage his pride. Maybe there was no one else – maybe…

Kite shook his head, though, and Rin's fledgling hope took another dive. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It doesn't matter who he is, Rin. Who he is doesn't change what's between us."

He looked up, expression serious. "Or what _isn't_ between us."

Rin looked away, stunned by the gravity of Kite's words. Though he'd packed his things and left with the intention of never returning just that morning, the certainty that Kite did not love him – had probably never loved him – was staggering. Regardless of last night's conversation and Rin's subsequent departure – he hadn't quite grasped that it was truly over.

And it was. _Over_.

"You bastard," was all that he could say, voice no more than a hiss.

He pushed Kite's hand away when he reached for him and glared at the man he'd spent the past seven years chasing after. "Don't try to make it sound okay when it's not. You say that he doesn't matter, but he _does_!"

Kite didn't answer and Rin recognized that flicker of irritation that he worked so hard to conceal when Rin had raised his voice.

"You can pretty it up all you want, Eishirou, but the bottom line is that you have someone _new_ and you don't want me anymore."

"That's not it," Kite began, voice tight, and Rin didn't miss the way his hands clenched into fists at his side. This was hard for him, certainly, but Rin was inclined to believe that what he was seeing was simple irritation for having been called out so accurately and not any actual pain over the loss of an old friend and lover.

"Fuck you, Eishirou – that's _exactly_ it!"

He paused for a moment, having already convinced himself that Kite had been involved with this person – whomever he was – even before Rin had left. It helped him to justify the argument. It helped him to vent his own pain. He'd rather think that Kite was a cheating, faithless bastard rather than ever believe him capable of falling in love with someone he'd known less than two weeks.

Not when seven years had passed between them and Kite had still not fallen in love with _Rin_.

"Do you love him?" he asked, knowing that Kite would never, ever lie to spare someone's feelings.

Kite looked away and Rin stepped closer. "Answer me," he murmured, propelled by anger and disillusionment and self-preservation. "Are you in love with him?"

When Kite lifted his gaze to meet Rin's, his expression was practically devoid of any recognizable emotion. Feeling as though his heart would break, he knew what Kite's answer would be before he'd ever uttered a word.

_"Yes."_

The moment that passed between them then was heavy with surprise and finality and – on Rin's part, at least – a near debilitating disbelief. It was completely without rational thought that he drew back his fist to hit Kite hard in the face and it wasn't until Kite staggered back against the sink – his glasses having landed somewhere near the bathtub – that Rin realized what he'd done. And even then, watching Kite cover his eye and stifle whatever sound Rin knew he wanted to make, it hadn't felt like enough. Kite had taken his pride and stomped on his heart. Rin figured that a black eye and a pair of broken glasses didn't _begin_ to settle the score.

Rin was breathing heavily – truthfully, he thought he might not be finished – and when Kite straightened, taking his hand away and glaring at Rin without benefit of his glasses, Rin knew that Kite had no intention of hitting him back.

His eye was watering and the skin beneath it was red. Soon it would turn purple and then blue and even then Rin would still feel the same. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and realized – horrified – that he wanted to cry.

Instead, he backed away, wallet clutched in his hand and hating Kite for looking at him that way. Like he pitied him.

"Rin," he began, voice strained, and Rin shook his head, movements made jerky and awkward for his shock and his anger.

"No," was all he could say. Even when he knew he should say something else. "No…"

And as Kite rubbed a hand over his face – touching his eye gingerly and feeling it begin to swell – he knelt on the floor to find his glasses while Rin did what Rin did best.

He ran.

+++

For all that he was having the worst week of his life, Atobe was grateful, at least, that the rain had seen fit to cease before he'd arrived. As he'd been standing out in front of Tezuka's building for fifteen minutes – periodically buzzing him and demanding that he be allowed up – he could barely fathom being left out in the rain on top of all the other indignities that had recently been visited upon him.

It was late; Tezuka _had_ to be at home.

He tried again, refusing to consider that Tezuka would not see him at all, and attempted to conceal his agitation when he spoke patiently and evenly into the intercom.

"Kunimitsu? If you're home, I truly wish you would answer. I've been standing outside for almost twenty minutes, now. Kunimitsu?"

There was a pause and then Tezuka's voice was there – clear and pitched in surprise. "Keigo?"

Instant relief was Atobe's and he smiled, leaning close to the intercom as though it contained Tezuka, himself. "Yes, it's me. I'm just outside – can you buzz me up?"

Tezuka hesitated and for a brief, unthinkable moment, Atobe considered that his request might be refused. What would he do – what would he say – if Tezuka refused to see him?

"Very well," he finally said. "I'm in 5H."

Before Atobe could speak, he heard the door's lock turn and he hurried to open it. The lobby – if indeed one wanted to call it that – was quiet and empty and the carpet in the elevator was worn and stained with water. Atobe wrinkled his nose.

It occurred to him, when he stood before Tezuka's door, that despite the solitude that had been his on the trip over, Atobe had absolutely no idea what he intended to say to Tezuka. 'I miss you'? 'Why didn't you answer my last email?' 'Are you fucking someone else?'

Not only did none of those things sound like anything Tezuka would appreciate hearing, they were not questions that Atobe had any right to ask in the first place. He knew what was proper and what was not and while he still felt as though Tezuka was his, somehow, Atobe would not sacrifice his dignity only to find that Tezuka was as over him as he'd appeared these months past. It was with this realization that Atobe decided that his impromptu visit was necessary in order to obtain any closure for himself.

If Tezuka appeared happy and settled, then Atobe would accept that as a fitting conclusion to a poorly ended love affair. If, however, Tezuka seemed to miss Atobe as Atobe _sometimes_ missed him, then perhaps a reconciliation wasn't entirely unthinkable.

He knocked, only once, and felt his every, single thought flitter away when Tezuka opened the door. Dressed in pale blue pajamas and toweling his hair – he looked clean and fresh and comfortable and _irresistible_.

"Ah…were you preparing for bed, then? I apologize."

Tezuka waved the apology away, stepping aside to allow Atobe entrance, and draped the towel around his neck to run a hand through his hair. "Not particularly."

That he was just getting _out_ of bed instead of preparing to get _into_ it didn't seem an appropriate bit of information to offer.

Glancing around quickly, Atobe still held his coat and his bag. He didn't take off his shoes.

Tezuka stood before him for a moment and, when Atobe didn't speak, turned toward the kitchen. "What are you doing here? I didn't realize that you were in town."

When it became obvious that Tezuka wasn't going to insist that he remove his shoes, Atobe toed them off and stood awkwardly just beyond the door. He could see Tezuka from where he stood and, beyond that, Tezuka seemed to have no issue carrying on a conversation while he made tea.

"Just business," he responded, finally setting his bag down and hanging up his jacket. He eased on a pair of slippers near the door – they used to be his _anyway_ – and made his way around the sofa and into the kitchen area. Tezuka's apartment was tiny and spare – it suited him.

"At this hour? In this city? If I didn't know better, I might think you'd turned yakuza, Keigo," he returned lightly, his attempt at easing the undeniable tension between them.

Snorting derisively, Atobe smoothed a hand down the front of his unforgivably wrinkled shirt and hoped the hotel he wound up in had decent housekeeping. Yakuza indeed. He was a fine one to talk, sneaking around with Kite Eishirou who was, by now, very likely well on his way to becoming head of the local crime syndicate.

_Oh, Kunimitsu. Tell me you'd never fall so far._

He reminded himself to be fair, though. True, he'd seen Kite swaggering out of the building as though he were cock of the walk – dressed like a ruffian - but perhaps that had been mere coincidence. Watching Tezuka, after all this time, and feeling immediately soothed by his calm, graceful manner, Atobe felt certain that he couldn't possibly be seeing someone like Kite.

"I'm considering a merger," he said. It wasn't entirely a lie as his father was in the middle of a very political buyout involving a nearby shipyard. He called it 'acquisitions'. Atobe didn't call it anything at all. Once the old bastard retired and was out of Atobe's way, there would be no shady dealings with short, too-tanned savages. Pursing his lips, Atobe lay one hand on the breakfast bar and reminded himself that he didn't have time to allow himself to be sidetracked. He didn't come all this way to worry over his father's business practices – he had his own short, too-tanned savage to contend with.

"Oh?" Tezuka inquired, wiping the counter and unwrapping a few plain, white cakes that he then stacked lovingly on what Atobe recognized as Tezuka-san's good dinnerware. Immediately suspicious and feeling far too inconsequential to rely on good breeding to see him through the situation he'd placed himself in, Atobe narrowed his eyes and said, quietly, "Are you sleeping with Kite Eishirou?"

Tezuka stilled, fingers light on the sweet he held, and it was a long moment before he turned familiar, censorious eyes on Atobe. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, icy.

"What did you say?"

Frowning, Atobe didn't give an inch. As Tezuka hadn't laughed and asked him if he'd fallen and hit his head recently, Atobe considered his reaction admittance enough of his guilt. "You heard me."

Inhaling slowly, Tezuka turned to face Atobe. Crossing his arms over his chest – assessing, _not_ defensive, Atobe decided – Tezuka swept him with a withering glance and shook his head. His shoulders and back were straight like steel and he wore his self-righteousness like a holy mantle. Atobe knew that, if he hadn't been so angry and unutterably _wronged_ , he'd have fallen in love with him all over again.

"You have no right to ask me that," Tezuka asserted – clearly not apologetic. "You have your life and I have mine and I will _sleep_ , Atobe Keigo, with whomever I choose. Do we understand one another?"

It was as good as an admission. Atobe thought he might be sick. "Is that a yes?"

The silence that followed was heavy with frustration and Tezuka knew that Atobe wasn't feeling even one-tenth as confident as he wanted to seem. How he'd come by the knowledge that Tezuka was seeing anyone at all was anyone's guess. Even if Atobe had spoken to Ryoma – which didn't seem plausible, really – Tezuka knew that Ryoma would not impart his secrets. To anyone.

"If this is what you came for, Keigo, then I suggest that you go home. I have no intention of discussing this with you."

"And why is that?" he demanded, perilously close to losing his composure. "You walked away, remember? I wasn't the one – it was _you_."

Tezuka's cheeks were flushed and his lips were tight – he was upset and not hiding it well. "I'm not revisiting this, Keigo. Are you listening to me? I'm not doing this again."

At Atobe's determined, mutinous expression, Tezuka stepped forward and if Atobe hadn't known better, he might have thought he was reaching.

"You pushed me away," was all he could say, however, and when Atobe's expression softened, Tezuka turned away. "I have to put it behind me. Let me do that, Keigo. If I ever mattered to you at all."

Finding that he had no argument to offer, Atobe lowered his gaze, as well. Always, Tezuka had been capable of sucking the wind right out of his over-confident sails.

"I can't let you go," he said, finally. His throat was tight and his stomach hurt and he hated that he stood before Tezuka looking the way he did. He couldn't even have his dignity, but then, that was his own doing and he knew it. "You've always been there, Kunimitsu. You're my history – I don't want to forget that. Or you."

Rubbing his temples, Tezuka sighed heavily. Atobe tried his patience sorely, but he couldn't hate him. If the truth were to be known, he doubted he'd ever be able to cut Atobe out of his life, out of his heart. But he couldn't live with him and he couldn't give him what he wanted.

"I'm not dead, Keigo. We're just not together anymore. It's not the end of the world."

 _It is_ , Atobe wanted to say. _When you don't love me anymore, it_ is _the end of the world_. But how could he say such a thing? It was embarrassing and dramatic and maudlin and unfair, besides.

"Promise me that we'll never be strangers to one another."

Stepping forward, Tezuka lay one hand on Atobe's shoulder and shook him gently. "Idiot."

Without waiting to be invited, Atobe moved into Tezuka's personal space and wrapped his arms tight around his waist. After a moment, Tezuka draped an arm around his shoulders and held him for a moment. This was not the Atobe that Tezuka knew and respected. That he was in a bad place was obvious to him and he regretted that he could not be the one to build him back up again.

"I want you to be happy, Kunimitsu. No matter what's between us, you're more important to me than you think."

"I know that," Tezuka said.

"Are you happy, then?" he couldn’t help asking, both hoping and dreading that he would elaborate.

Considering the past few days and the near-constant roller coaster of uncertainty and excitement that he'd been on, Tezuka wasn't entirely sure how to answer such a question. All he knew was that when Kite was next to him, the observer in him fell dormant. The urge to analyze himself and his every conscious thought simply wasn't there. Was that happiness? Tezuka didn't know.

"Ask me again in six months."

Shoulders lifting in silent amusement, Atobe rested his forehead against Tezuka's neck and gripped his hips in an effort to ground himself once more. "I'll schedule it."

"Put it in your daytimer," Tezuka returned, squeezing his shoulders once before withdrawing a bit.

When Atobe lifted his head, meeting Tezuka's eyes evenly for the first time since he'd arrived, his lips quirked in that familiar, arrogant smirk and Tezuka finally allowed himself to relax.

"I brought my overnight bag," he offered helpfully, and Tezuka stepped back, putting some space between them despite his expression of amusement.

"That's good. You'll be able to clean up at your hotel later."

Brushing his bangs aside, Atobe took hold of his confidence again. He might have arrived without his dignity, but he was determined to take it with him when he left.

"No farewell kiss, then?"

"Godspeed," Tezuka returned, tone dry.

Atobe laughed, preparing to offer something positive and real for what might have been the first time in a very long time. Before he could speak, though, Tezuka's intercom crackled and his attention was effectively garnered elsewhere.

"Tezuka?"

After only a moment, Tezuka moved to answer. Atobe watched him press the button – didn't miss his immediate reaction.

"Kite."

Atobe stilled. _Kite_.

"Still want me?" he asked, voice low but not at all as smarmy as Atobe felt it should be.

Tezuka didn't hesitate and he didn't look at Atobe. "Yes. The door is unlocked."

"All right," Kite said, sounding far too familiar for Atobe's liking. "I'm on my way."


	9. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

 

The look that Atobe sent Tezuka, when he turned away from the intercom and smoothed his shirt down in a way that reminded Atobe very much of a prissy miss preparing to greet her first suitor, was not an unfamiliar one. Nor, really, was Tezuka's response to it.

"I expect that you will behave yourself, Keigo?" he asked lightly, as if he had not just insulted Atobe out of hand.

"Pardon me? _Behave_ myself?" Atobe said, incredulous. "I'm not a child, Kunimitsu."

Fixing him with an even stare, Tezuka nodded once. "Indeed."

Frowning – because a man of his stature and consequence did not _pout_ – Atobe slid onto one of Tezuka's bar stools and tried to appear just a bit more comfortable than he truly did.

"He wasn't gone very long, was he?"

Tezuka moved toward the door, glancing back with a frown, and paused there. "Precisely how long were you standing outside, spying on me?"

Atobe snorted. " _Spying_ on you. As though I would stoop so low. Didn't I say I waited outside for near onto twenty minutes while you dilly-dallied in the bathroom, primping and making ready for Mr. Wonderful?"

Tezuka's expression did not change. "Charming, Keigo."

Despite his intention to appear as confident as possible, Atobe hunched his shoulders and scowled. Even as he considered his response, there was a knock at the door and he frowned again.

Tezuka pointed at him in warning, for only a moment, and didn't wait for a reaction before opening the door and stepping back to allow Kite inside. Though he'd intended to maintain as stiff and admirable a composure as possible, his plans were forgotten when he noticed that Kite was not wearing his glasses.

"Where are your glasses?" Leaning forward, studying his face, Tezuka blinked in surprise and reached up as though to touch Kite. Remembering himself, and his guest, however, he drew his hand back and regarded Kite placidly. "What happened to your eye?"

The intimate, unguarded expression on Kite's face gave way to something less inviting the moment he crossed the threshold and noticed that they were not alone any longer. Almost at once, the soft look he'd given Tezuka became something guarded and suspicious and Atobe could practically feel him bristling. _Certainly_ he could smell the overabundance of testosterone. Or – more likely – Kite Eishirou merely needed a good scrubbing.

"Bad timing on my part?" he asked, casually, though there was no mistaking the hard edge to his words.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tezuka responded, ushering him inside – Atobe didn't miss the way his hand lingered just at Kite's back before he turned toward the small kitchen. "You remember Atobe Keigo, Kite?"

Glancing between Tezuka and Atobe, Kite seemed to decide that erring on the side of caution was preferable to losing his uncivilized temper and risk offending Tezuka with his intolerable absence of couth. "Vaguely," he said, noncommittal and apprehensive.

To Atobe's surprise, however, he closed the distance between them and offered Atobe his hand. "Kite Eishirou," he said. "It's been a while, Atobe."

Taking his hand – tan and firm – Atobe managed not to scowl. "Indeed. Pleasure to see you again," he said, generous to a fault.

Kite smiled at him, then – slow, knowing, seemingly _quite_ amused – as if to call him a liar and Atobe felt his composure slip. But only marginally.

"I'm surprised to see you," was all that he said and Atobe glanced briefly in Tezuka's direction before meeting Kite's eyes again.

_I bet you are, you hoodlum._

"Atobe is in town on business," Tezuka spoke up, placing three cups on a small tray and carrying them toward the breakfast bar. He set a cup in front of the both of them and filled Kite's cup first. Atobe's lips tightened at the blatant slight until Tezuka squeezed a lemon slice into his cup. He sat back a little, unable to prevent his smug satisfaction. Kite seemed not to notice, though of course – Atobe told himself – he must have.

Before he slid Kite's cup toward him, though, he dropped a cube of sugar into it and stirred it quickly. "Drink this and warm yourself," he said, voice low as if Atobe weren't there at all. "You should put some ice on your eye, also. It's beginning to swell."

Kite touched it gingerly, wincing the moment his fingertips came into contact with the skin there, and nodded once. "I will, thank you."

Atobe watched, silent and more than a little annoyed by what he was witnessing. Tezuka – _his_ Tezuka – was fussing over this common hood as though he were made of some fragile, delicate imported china. Adding insult to injury, Kite responded favorably to it, even going so far as to pretend to _enjoy_ Tezuka's mothering.

Kite was silent as he sipped his tea and Atobe imagined that he was not going to be so fortunate as to learn what trouble he'd managed to get himself into. Tezuka did not ask for an explanation and, instead, seemed unperturbed by Kite's disheveled state. It was almost as though he were accustomed to it and for all that Atobe preferred not to dwell on it, he could admit that it was likely.

Instead of taking his seat, as Atobe expected that he would, Tezuka moved to the cabinet to find a small towel and didn't look at either of his guests as he wrapped several pieces of ice inside the cloth.

Kite tilted his head when Tezuka carefully pressed the cloth to his temple and – at Tezuka's nod – held it against his eye by himself. It was only then that Tezuka took a seat at the bar – opposite Kite and Atobe.

Atobe sipped his tea through tight, thin lips.

"It's late, Keigo," Tezuka finally said. "You must be hungry."

When Atobe did not answer right away, Tezuka took another slow sip from his cup and went on. "Kite and I have not eaten yet, either."

_Kite and I. Kite and I. Kite and I._

Several moments passed before Tezuka's words no longer rang in Atobe's ears and even as he shook his head in polite refusal, his heart ached. He was starving – it had been several hours since he'd last eaten anything substantial – but he knew that there was simply no way that he would be able to sit at Tezuka's table and share a meal with him when his new lover sat so attentively at his side.

Even as he drank from the cup Tezuka had given him, Atobe reminded himself that this scenario, this situation, was his own doing. He'd been the one to let Tezuka walk away; he'd been the one to let months pass without the first attempt at getting him back. He'd been the one to show up unannounced when he'd suspected that Tezuka was seeing someone else.

And so, as much as he would have liked to blame Tezuka for the dull, constant ache in his heart, Atobe could not. Not only would it be unfair, Atobe could not abide anyone thinking ill of Tezuka – not even himself.

He glanced briefly at Kite, curious as to what he thought of Tezuka inviting him for dinner, and tensed when he realized that Kite had been staring at him all along. Even when they locked eyes, Kite did not speak and Atobe simply looked away. There was no challenge in Kite's expression and indeed, Atobe wondered, why would there be? As far as Atobe could ascertain, Kite had already won.

"Thank you, Kunimitsu, but I should be going. I didn't…"

He trailed off, then, standing fluidly and stretching the muscles in his back. 'I didn't think you'd have company' would have sounded presumptuous and insulting. He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I have an early flight in the morning."

Tezuka was silent and his uncertain expression was almost enough to change Atobe's mind. The longer they looked at one another, however, the more apparent it became that what Tezuka was experiencing in regards to Atobe's presence was not happiness or excitement, but obligation. And that _stung_.

"We could go out for dinner," Kite offered weakly and it was clear enough to Atobe that it was one of the very last things he wanted to do. If the past twenty minutes had been anything to go by, they'd have been in for an evening of strained silences and infrequent conversation.

"Thank you, no," he returned, nodding acknowledgment to Kite and turning to retrieve his shoes and his jacket. Tezuka followed, though Kite remained where he was, tense and expectant and watching the both of them with his uncovered eye.

"Keigo," Tezuka began, though he hadn't the slightest as to what he might say.

Atobe stood, smiling tightly and laying a hand on Tezuka's shoulder. "I apologize for appearing unannounced," he murmured, speaking quietly in the hopes that Kite would not overhear. His goodbye was for _Tezuka_ and not for the man he slept with.

Shaking his head, Tezuka sighed. "Why did you come here, Keigo?"

That Atobe was not in town on business had been obvious to him from the very beginning and it annoyed him that Atobe had offered such a flimsy excuse. What was once between them was over – by Atobe's own design – and his pride would never have allowed him to say the things, do the things, that he should have in order to win Tezuka back.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, squeezing Tezuka's shoulder and leaning in to envelop him in a familiar, reassuring embrace. Against Tezuka's ear, with his lips brushing soft, fragrant hair, he whispered, "For what it's worth; I'm sorry."

At the breakfast bar, Kite half-stood, though he made no move toward them. Atobe did not look his way when he pressed his lips to Tezuka's cheek, lingering as he closed his eyes. "Goodbye, Kunimitsu."

He flipped the lock and let himself out and when the door closed behind him, he stood silently for a moment. Soon enough, however, he lifted his head, took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was Atobe Keigo. Atobe Keigo – and the world could be his, if he wanted it. He could have it all – everything – with the exception of one man.

He smiled when he stepped out onto the sidewalk, again, laughing – for the first time – at himself and at the predicament he found himself in.

Atobe needed a drink, but he doubted he'd be satisfied with just one.

 

+++

When Tezuka turned away from the door, arms wrapped loosely about his own waist, he sought Kite's gaze and refused to feel guilty for his solicitous treatment of Atobe. Truthfully, if Atobe hadn't seemed so uncomfortable and eager to make an escape, Tezuka would have happily invited him to join them for as long as he liked. Such a realization helped him to accept the fact that – while he was no longer pining for Atobe in any romantic fashion – he still cared for him and probably always would.

"I don't want to discuss this," he told Kite firmly, voice a bit more severe than he'd intended. Already he was feeling defensive on both his own and Atobe's behalf.

Looking expectant, but not angry – though Tezuka could sense some undercurrent of intensity in his body language – Kite blinked in surprise. "Discuss what?"

Frowning, Tezuka set about clearing Atobe's cup and his own. He did not touch Kite's. "What happened to your eye?" he asked, back to Kite as he rinsed dishes at the sink.

Relaxing marginally, Kite withdrew his glasses and lay them on the bar. His temple throbbed. "I thought you didn't want to discuss it."

When Tezuka did not answer, did not shoot Kite the withering glance that he'd been anticipating, he approached him quietly. Laying the towel – now saturated – in the sink, he wiped his hands on Tezuka's lavender dishtowel and moved to stand just behind him. When Tezuka didn't turn to face him or otherwise acknowledge his presence, Kite rested both hands on Tezuka's shoulders and squeezed gently. He was tense, rigid under Kite's hands.

"Hey," he said, slipping his arms around Tezuka to hold him close from behind. "Are you okay?"

Tezuka nodded once, but didn't speak. He didn't relax, even when Kite began to rub his bare arms.

"How long was he here?"

"As long as you were gone."

They were silent for a few moments more and Kite leaned in to nuzzle just behind Tezuka's ear. "If you'd insisted, he might have stayed."

Shoulders lifting in silent amusement, when Kite knew that he had nothing at all to laugh about, Tezuka shook his head. "No. He wouldn't have." Sighing softly, Tezuka finally relaxed in Kite's arms. "He saw you leave. He's not stupid."

Kite tightened his hold on Tezuka and nosed against his hair. There were many admirable, selfless things he could say – suggestions he could make – in regards to Tezuka and Atobe's relationship. He could say that it was obvious that the bond between them was still there, that the lingering feelings and mutual regard had clearly not diminished during their time apart. He could say that he would understand Tezuka's need to go after Atobe, if he loved him, still.

But he would be lying. He wouldn't understand and he didn't want to plant seeds of doubt in Tezuka's mind where his own regard was concerned. Truthfully, Kite was not that altruistic – he had never been and he doubted he would ever be.

"Does that bother you?" he asked.

"Yes and no," Tezuka answered, curling his fingers around Kite's forearms to hold him where he was. "I don't like the idea of causing him pain, but neither can I pretend that we can ever go back – even for his sake."

It was Kite's turn to relax, then, feeling as though all the uncertainty and apprehension he'd grappled with before simply melted away.

"Does that mean you still want to go forward?" Kite asked, somehow dreading Tezuka's response. He was thinking of earlier, when he'd been so ready to make promises regarding his loyalty and his devotion and the things that he hadn't realized were necessary to his happiness until he'd spent one night with Tezuka Kunimitsu.

When he spoke, Tezuka's voice was guarded, hesitant. "What are you asking me?"

Kite turned him, then, looked into his eyes where Tezuka might have turned away. "You know what I'm asking you," he said. "I meant what I said to you earlier."

Attempting to pretend that he didn't know precisely what Kite was referring to, Tezuka went over the words they'd exchanged, however cryptic and breathless they might have been, and recalled the expression on Kite's face when he'd sought to stake some sort of claim.

 _You and me. Just you and me._ That had been his promise. It wasn’t terribly surprising, Tezuka realized, to see this side of Kite and to experience this level of intensity with him. Even with as little of each other as they'd known, Tezuka could remember how serious Kite had been. How intense and determined and dedicated to what he'd seen as his responsibility. That he was the monogamous type made sense. Whether or not he was interested in the long term was another matter entirely.

Pulling away, feeling the way Kite attempted to hold on when there was sudden space between them, Tezuka touched the purple skin surrounding his eye and sighed again. When he walked past Kite, toward the sofa and that part of the room where the light was dim, he reached behind him to grip Kite's fingers.

"It was a ridiculous coincidence, but I'm glad it happened the way it did. Having Atobe arrive to find us in bed together would have been twice as awkward."

Kite didn't ask if Tezuka had disclosed any details of their relationship – such as it was – to Atobe. His very presence had been explanation enough. When Tezuka sat, half-turned to face Kite, he followed suit, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, ample space between them in the event that what either of them had to say might spark an argument.

When Tezuka did not initiate any conversation, however, - didn't ask the questions that Kite knew he wanted answers to – he met Tezuka's gaze squarely and took a steadying breath. From this distance, Tezuka's countenance was a bit blurry and Kite's swollen eye wasn't helping matters much.

"It was Rin," he began. "On the phone earlier. I went to meet him."

Expression unchanged, Tezuka merely blinked and waited for Kite to continue. Despite the surge of unwelcome, dishonorable emotion – the _jealousy_ – that Kite's admission induced, Tezuka did not respond accordingly. It was to him that Kite had returned, even when Tezuka continued to tell himself it didn't matter.

"He spent the night with me – last night – and left his wallet in my apartment."

He hesitated, did not the miss the minute tightening of his Tezuka's lips, his jaw, but did not attempt to make light of the situation. "He came over rather late – I was studying – and wanted a fight. To be honest, I didn't want to oblige him, Tezuka; Rin's dramatics can be exhausting.

"I'm certain that he hadn't anticipated my reluctance to pick up where we'd left off. He hadn't been gone a handful of days when I ran into you."

"You weren't still in a relationship with him, then? When we spent the night together?" Tezuka asked, clearly suspicious, but not at all accusatory and Kite shook his head.

"No, and I told you as much. I was alone when I saw you in that coffee shop – alone and unhappy and feeling like shit, really."

Kite frowned, then. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to go through it all again. What had been done was done and he didn't see any reason to hash over bad feelings merely in the interests of making a point to Tezuka. He knew he could do that without spending an hour talking about his past relationships.

"I almost told him last night, that I'd met someone else, but he was all over the place and as edgy as I'd ever seen him. I told him that things couldn't be the same between us and his reaction was more or less what I'd expected from him. I would have reiterated, made it clear, this morning, but he was gone when I awoke."

Kite paused and though Tezuka knew he shouldn't ask the question – shouldn't create turmoil where there was already more than enough – he knew he would never be able to see his relationship with Kite in any sort of realistic light unless he knew the truth.

"Did you…"

He frowned, brows furrowing, and Kite did not allow for any unnecessary suspense. He knew what Tezuka wanted to ask.

"Yes."

Tezuka looked away and Kite did not rush to offer assurance; Tezuka would not appreciate the condescension.

"I'd imagined that it was our goodbye and, honestly, I'm sure he thought the same thing. He was less than pleased to have to return to me tonight."

Finally, Tezuka fixed his gaze on Kite again and while Kite could have no idea as to whether he was helping his cause or destroying it, he continued.

"He asked me if I was in love with someone else," he said quietly, and Tezuka held his gaze just as he very nearly held his breath. But still he didn't ask.

"I said yes."

Finally, Tezuka spoke, "And then what happened?"

Wincing, Kite touched his eye, his cheekbone. "He decked me."

Wanting to smile, wanting to touch Kite's hand and bring him close, Tezuka simply continued to stare at him. "You shouldn't have told him that," he admonished, weak though it sounded.

"Why?" Kite wanted to know, head tilted and sincere.

"Because," Tezuka answered, twisting the loose material of his pants for want of something to occupy his hands. "It's not love. You're intrigued, fascinated, even. But-"

"What's the difference, Tezuka? Whether I'm actually in love with you or I just _think_ I am. The end result is the same."

Something in Kite's choice of words – his seeming nonchalance – rubbed Tezuka the wrong way and he glared at Kite, then. "It's not the same to _me_."

"Only because you won't _let_ it be the same," Kite said, straightening and clearly losing his composure. "This isn't warfare, Tezuka. It's not a fucking battleground with a net strung along the center – there's no place for strategy here."

Tezuka stood, then, rigid with impending anger and a need to defend himself and his emotions.

"It's easy for you to say so, Kite. You've never invested time and effort into something – someone – in the hopes that they will do the same. You've never experienced the kind of heartbreak that makes it difficult to wake up every morning so that you can convince yourself that there are still things worth experiencing."

Such a challenge – such unfairness - was enough to bring Kite surging to his feet, as well. Truly, it had not been Kite's intention to lose his temper – not when all he wanted to do was to get his arms around Tezuka again – but that he could be so blind and so unaware and so completely unaccepting of Kite's feelings when he was trying so hard to make him understand was nearly unbelievable. And, honestly, he was still just the tiniest bit pissed off that Atobe had kissed and touched Tezuka – _his_ Tezuka – right in front of him when there hadn't been a damn thing he could have done about it.

"I'm trying to experience it _right now_ ," he said, jaw clenched. "But you seem so determined to push me away that I don't know what else to do to make you understand!"

"Why do you think I don't understand? I understand perfectly, Kite, you'll simply have to excuse me for being a little apprehensive."

After a moment, Kite's expression softened and he rubbed his face, tired and spent and still wanting Tezuka so much that he couldn't let it go. "I do, Tezuka. I understand where you're coming from and what I should and shouldn't expect from you. But you can't expect me to risk the kind of heartbreak you're talking about when you give no indication that you feel about me the way that I feel about you."

Tezuka blinked. He stood there silently, adjusting his glasses and straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. Kite stared back, wanting to reach out, wanting to initiate this, to take the first step, even when he felt he'd already taken it a hundred times over.

"When I say that I'm in love with you, I don't want you to correct me or second-guess my motives. I don't want to think that you might be doubting every word I say because, if you are, Tezuka, then what do we have to say to one another at all?"

"What is that you want, then?" Tezuka asked, voice low – embarrassed for the candid way Kite spoke and for his complete uncertainty as to how he could respond and still remain true to himself. "Just tell me what you're after so I'll know what to expect."

Kite laughed, then. He hadn't meant to and hadn't even known that he would and Tezuka's expression was such that he could not resist him any longer.

He took a step forward, and then another and still one more before holding his hand out to Tezuka – palm up. That it was a few moments before Tezuka actually took it didn't seem to matter when he curled his fingers around Kite's, hesitant still.

"You want a guarantee, Tezuka, when there isn't one."

When Tezuka looked away, tried to pull back, Kite took another step forward – Tezuka was running out of room.

"You don't want me to say that I love you, but you don't want to hear that I don't, either. All you have to do is let me try, Tezuka. Just… _let me_."

Still wary, but so obviously wanting to believe Kite, to trust him, Tezuka moved a bit closer. He had a feeling that meeting Kite halfway might be infinitely more satisfying than allowing him to back him against another wall.

This admission – this confession – was indication enough that Kite was serious about securing his affections and Tezuka could not trick himself into thinking that he didn't _want_ them secured so completely.

"You don't want anyone else?" he asked, curling his fingers in the neckline of Kite's tank top and moving closer, crowding him. "You're certain?"

Hands at his sides, eager to allow Tezuka this dominance if it would, ultimately, mean his capitulation, Kite murmured against his lips, "Are you?"

Eyes flashing – with provocation, with challenge – Tezuka leaned against Kite to send him sprawling back on the sofa. He followed him down, between his legs to pin him against the cushions even as Kite gripped his hips.

"You're enough," he said, palms flat at Kite's chest when he initiated the first kiss, eyes closed and lips parting immediately.

Kite took over easily enough, however, and grunted his satisfaction when he kissed Tezuka deeply, defiantly. Being enough wasn't better than being _everything_ , but it was a start.

+++

The cab ride to the hotel – and the walk to the bar, after that – had not lessened Atobe's desire for a few shots of tequila. Or vodka. Or rum. Or scotch. Or all of the above in as many variations as was possible. The tea he'd had at Tezuka's had long since settled in his empty stomach and made him queasy. Or perhaps it had been a combination of misery and bile – they worked together quite amicably, it seemed.

With a heavy sigh, he made his way toward the bar – jacket slung casually over one shoulder – and tried to ignore the thick plumes of smoke that rose from the small groups of people seated together. Atobe hated cigarette smoke and his very presence inside the bar meant that he would need to make use of the hotel's dry cleaning service before he left for the airport tomorrow morning.

He glanced from between a few private booths and the bar in an attempt to ascertain which seating arrangement would make him appear less pathetic. On the one hand, the booth would offer privacy and plenty of space in which to wallow in his self-pity. On the other, the alcohol would be even more expediently accessible from the bar and he wouldn't need to come up with flimsy excuses when drunken, shameless hussies came over to join him in the hopes of securing his attention.

Deciding that the bar would be the lesser of two evils, Atobe chose a seat next a man who looked to be very interested in the contents of his glass in favor of the empty stool surrounded by giggling females. Atobe pinched the bridge of his nose; he was in no condition to attempt to be charming that evening.

Sliding onto the stool and laying his jacket in his lap, Atobe signaled the bartender. "Grey Goose martini, please. Dry, up, with a twist."

The man next to him snorted, muffling a drunken giggle, and drained the bright green liquid from his glass. "You must be just warming up," he said, though he didn't look at Atobe. Setting his glass down heavily on the bar, he dropped his head forward to rest on his forearms and hiccupped.

Atobe frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

After a moment, the man turned his head, peeking at Atobe through pale strands of hair, and blew his hair out of his face to reveal two very blue eyes with very dilated pupils.

"That's a switch, eh? Good-looking city boy begging _me_ , for a change."

Atobe stiffened, averting his eyes. The very last thing he wanted was a public come-on from some longhaired, pathetic drunk. That he, himself, was about to become a perfectly coiffed, pathetic drunk was rather a moot point as far as Atobe was concerned. _He_ wasn't planning to be starring in any embarrassing, drunken, gay-themed scandals.

When it became apparent that he was not going to respond, the blonde man gestured toward his glass. "Still thirsty, Mikoto. Keep 'em comin'"

To Atobe, he mumbled, "Go ahead, ignore me. I'm _invisible_."

Taking immediate offense, Atobe accepted his drink from the bartender and immediately withdrew the little red cutlass spearing his olives and tapped it against the side of his glass. "Look, friend. While I can appreciate the pity party you're throwing for yourself, here, you'll have to excuse me for not attending." Biting down on the plastic sword, he sucked all three olives into his mouth and began to chomp loudly. "I'm hosting my _own_ little soiree tonight, if you don't mind."

The blonde seemed to consider this, raising his head to watch Atobe drain the martini glass, and then nodded blearily. "Hey, Mikoto – scratch that. I'll have what he's having. Go ahead and give me two."

"Female trouble?" the blonde asked, sizing Atobe up as best he could when it was two of him that he was currently seeing.

Atobe snorted, rolling his sleeves up to just below the elbow and leaning against the bar. "You could say that," he allowed. As missish as Tezuka could sometimes be, it wasn't a far cry to insinuate that he was definitely the less masculine of the two of them. Atobe's nightly skin-care regiment aside, Tezuka was frigid and self-righteous enough to make any man a decent wife. Especially someone like Kite Eishirou, who was probably a wife-beater, anyway.

Such thoughts made Atobe immediately sad and his shoulders slumped as he considered all that he had learned tonight. Kite Eishirou. He'd better not lay a cross hand on Tezuka's beautiful, flawless skin or Atobe would ruin him. How one went about ruining someone who was clearly a member of the Yakuza was rather beyond Atobe, but he imagined that he could consider it again when he was a bit more level-headed and not nearly as heartsick and maudlin.

The blonde nodded. "I know what you mean. They don't care, though. You know that, right?"

The bartender – a handsome, young man with an earring and short, spiky hair – set three drinks on the bar and leaned in just long enough for the blonde to notice.

"Here you go, Hirakoba-kun," he said, smiling in obvious adoration. "And one's on me."

Atobe pursed his lips, watching the exchange. One was on him, indeed. It wasn't difficult to guess precisely what – or whom - he wished would be _on him_. Disgraceful. Was the entire country gay and looking for a cheap hook-up?

The blonde looked up, then, blue eyes shining with sudden, unshed tears and his lower lip trembled. "Don't call me Hirakoba-kun. _Anything_ but that."

Atobe blinked, tilted his head. The blonde was familiar, somehow, though Atobe couldn't imagine where he might have met him before. He saw plenty of bleached-blonde pretty boys in Tokyo, but none had such evenly tanned skin or healthy, shiny hair. This boy looked like a surfer, or something equally frivolous and useless. Atobe wondered, then, if perhaps he were a singer or a television personality. He didn't follow pop-culture very closely and imagined that he could easily be sitting next to a TV idol without ever realizing it.

"Whatever you say, Rinrin," Mikoto purred, tousling the blonde's hair and leaning in to bonk heads playfully.

'Rinrin' sniffled and reached for the martini glass, gesturing to one of the others. "You have one," he told Atobe. "You can be my guest tonight."

Hirakoba Rin. The name was vaguely familiar – Atobe could not shake the feeling that he knew it somehow. He took the drink, tried to see the sad, sniffling young man as any sort of threat at all and found that he could not. From the sound of things, they were in the same boat. And misery certainly loved company.

"You're having women trouble, too, then?" Atobe asked politely, nibbling on an olive as he watched Hirakoba swirl a hot pink swizzle stick in his martini. He poked at the olives and made a face.

"Women, men, whatever. They're all the same," he spat. "Especially mine." He frowned then, scrubbed at his eyes like a sleepy child. "Well, he used to be mine, anyway. But he's a woman, too. Talking about his stupid feelings and his stupid boyfriend and his stupid… _stupidness_."

Atobe nodded his agreement – _hear, hear_ – though he didn't answer. That his new drinking buddy was openly gay should have sent him scurrying for that booth he'd passed over earlier. The last thing he needed was for his father to catch wind of this. He relaxed, though, thinking that certainly no one had any idea that he was here, much less any nosy reporters. Here, he could be some nameless man with relationship woes, getting plastered with a heartbroken, queer surferboy and nobody would care. It was a good feeling – a buoyant, happy feeling. Atobe ordered another drink.

"And he had the nerve to call _me_ stupid. Me! The only person in the world who will ever love his uptight, judgmental, met-merec-metic-"

"Meticulous?" Atobe supplied helpfully.

"Yes, _meretriculous_ ," Hirakoba slurred, slapping the bar with the palm of his hand. "And the most self-righteous bastard you'll ever meet in your life."

Arching one eyebrow, Atobe began to feel very justified in his upset. Justified and very, very _right_. Tezuka had been crazy to let him go. Who would love him now? That ill-mannered, uneducated, law-breaking Kite Eishirou? _Hardly_.

Hirakoba looked up at him, then, blue eyes wide and beseeching. If Atobe had less-discriminating tastes – or an overactive sex drive – he might have considered inviting his new friend back to his hotel. Even as muddled as his thoughts were becoming, and would become, still, with the amount of alcohol that he intended to consume tonight, Atobe was still Atobe. And he worried about all manner of things that he doubted other men his age ever gave a passing thought to: disease, scandal, being mugged, being recognized, getting his ass kicked in public – all very valid concerns.

"Oh, god," Hirakoba moaned, leaning forward and pressing one hand to his forehead. "My head hurts."

Atobe frowned. "You can't have any aspirin, with all the alcohol you've consumed. Perhaps you should lie down for awhile?"

Nodding, and grimacing when he did so, Hirakoba wiped his eyes and drained the remaining martini. "You're right."

He sat up, then, wobbling on his bar stool and gasping when he lost his balance. Atobe – only marginally in possession of all his faculties – caught him easily, righting him and helping him to lean against the bar. Up close, Hirakoba's eyes were blue, blue, blue. Like the ocean. His eyelashes were long. His skin clear. His mouth…

"Thanks," he murmured. He smelled like midori. "What's your name?"

Atobe smiled. It had been a long time since someone had batted his or her eyelashes at him in so sincere a fashion. "Oshitari," he said. "Oshitari Yuushi."

Hirakoba smiled in return, but winced when his head throbbed anew. "Oi, Oshitari-kun. Will you give me a hand? I'm a little wobbly."

Motioning to the bartender, Atobe gripped Hirakoba's shoulder with one hand and leaned in to talk over the din of voices and music. "You have private karaoke booths here, yes? Hirakoba-kun is feeling ill."

Nodding thoughtfully, Mikoto motioned to the side of the bar – along the hallway where the restrooms were located. Before he said a word, though, he plucked a bottle of rum from the shelf behind him and slid it across the bar toward Atobe. "Let him sip on this. He'll be okay in a while."

Atobe frowned. It seemed very irresponsible to ply Hirakoba with yet more alcohol when he was so keenly feeling the effects of that which he'd already consumed. "Are you sure? He seems quite drunk to me."

Mikoto laughed, slapped Atobe on the shoulder as though he'd just said the most hilarious thing Mikoto had ever heard. "Trust me. Hirakoba-kun can hold his liquor. Just don't let him wander out into the street. I'll pick up the tab – just take care of him 'til I get off work."

Atobe nodded his thanks, tucked the bottle under one arm and gathered his jacket as he helped Hirakoba to his feet. "This way, Hirakoba-kun. You can lie down in one the booths."

Clinging to Atobe's sleeve, Rin leaned his head on Atobe's shoulder and murmured his assent. "Stay with me, Oshitari-kun?"

"I will. For a while, at least," Atobe told him, certain that Hirakoba's hand on his ass was entirely accidental.

"Mmm," Hirakoba purred, fingers curling around the bottle wedged under Atobe's arm. "Oshitari-kun is nice. He smells good, too. Stupid woman to let him go."

Atobe snorted. He would agree, if he didn't know how entirely at fault he was for allowing obligation and paranoia to ruin his relationship with Tezuka. It was his fault – all his fault – and long had Atobe known that one reaped what one sowed. There would be no misplaced blame in this situation – Atobe was _not_ his father.

"Right here, Hirakoba-kun," he directed, telling himself that Hirakoba only clung so tightly because he couldn't balance his own weight in his current state. His hair smelled like sunshine.

"Thank you, Oshitari-kun," he said, stumbling backward when the door swung open. He had the bottle, now, flopping back onto one of the benches to peel off the plastic seal at the top. "Let's drink to new friends."

Hirakoba glanced up – pretty eyes and wicked smile – to catch Atobe's gaze. Atobe let the door close behind him.


	10. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Never – in all the years that Atobe had been alive – had he detested the sunlight as he did that morning. Beyond that, the promise that he sometimes made to himself regarding his very poor decision to drink himself into a stupor before bedtime was beginning to seem like the sort of promise he should consider keeping.

The jet was quiet; thankfully, there was little turbulence with which to contend and despite the shades that effectively blocked the sunlight, Atobe had not removed his wrap-around sunglasses. He'd dismissed his attendant after she'd offered him a bottle of water and had proceeded to hover just at his elbow in silent expectation. Atobe had frowned, annoyed and hungover and quite unable to believe that the vapid little twit had been hired to attend his private jet. He was miserable and he looked like shit and was clearly not in the mood for any sort of human interaction. Most particularly after the human _interaction_ he'd enjoyed the previous night.

He shifted, wincing and wishing like hell he could get comfortable. His ass was _killing_ him. Nearby, his attendant put a foot forward as though to inquire after any pressing needs he might have – again – and Atobe shook his head once, the sound he made more resembling a growl than the firm refusal he'd intended. Wonderful. Trundling himself home in disgrace with a splitting headache and his ass on fire and now he was growling at the staff like some sort of ill-bred mongrel. Atobe doubted that – barring a tragic, sudden plane crash – things could get much worse.

Leaning his head back against the seat, adjusting his travel pillow (whomever had seen fit to spritz it with lavender deserved a raise), Atobe closed his eyes and considered his plans going forward. He and Tezuka had shared a goodbye and while it hadn't been the one Atobe had anticipated, it had been final, nonetheless. Truthfully, he hadn't been holding out for much more than what he'd actually received and being afforded Tezuka's embrace in front of his new boyfriend – oh god, but the very _word_ made Atobe nauseous – had been much sweeter a farewell than Atobe knew he deserved.

Atobe sighed, cautioning himself against allowing his thoughts to settle around Tezuka and Kite, and massaged his temples slowly. Last night was still a bit of a muddle in his brain. His memories were disjointed, fragmented, seeming far more surreal than any experience he could recall in recent memory. He supposed he should have listened to his father, on that score. 'A smart man drinks alone, my boy. Remember that, if you forget everything I've ever taught you.'

_Hm, right. Thank you, Father. I'll file that little gem away with 'if she asks for a blood test, just tell her you're a hemophiliac and give her ten grand' and 'if no one else witnessed it, then it never happened'._

Truthfully, the latter had been the impetus toward finally luring Tezuka Kunimitsu into his bed. Perhaps one day he'd let dear old dad know that he'd been right at least the one time.

But now he was thinking about Tezuka again and he'd already decided that he'd be better served avoiding thoughts of Tezuka for a while. Perhaps seven to ten years. He imagined that he'd be in a better state of mind, then, and could handle whatever thoughts he might have about Tezuka and his gangland romance.

Uncapping the water bottle, he took a long drink, swishing the water in his mouth once or twice. Despite the ten minutes he'd spent brushing his teeth that morning, he still felt like he'd dined on roadkill and then licked the pavement, after. He didn't remember precisely what he'd had to drink the night before, but he suspected that it hadn't ended with the bottle that he'd helped Hirakoba empty.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Atobe recalled vague snatches of memories involving himself, an incredibly athletic, tanned blonde, quite a bit of nudity and the most energetic bedromp he'd ever partaken of in his entire life. While he didn't remember the trek from the bar to his hotel room, it would be a very long time before he was able to forget the way Hirakoba had pressed him back against the mattress, covering him, pinning him, spreading his legs and grinding purposefully against him. At one point, when he'd turned his head to gasp for air, he'd sucked in a mouthful of thick, blonde hair and had very nearly suffocated. Unless he was very much mistaken, Atobe recalled that moment as the one where Hirakoba had giggled against his neck and promptly flipped him over onto his belly.

Atobe grimaced, snapping his fingers at the attendant. "A tin of mints, please."

She blinked at him, hands linked behind her back. "The whole tin, Atobe-sama?"

Scowling, he speared her with a glare that he hoped she could _feel_ from behind his dark glasses. "I believe I enunciated clearly enough, woman. Yes, the whole tin."

When she returned, not having bothered to remove the protective wrapping, Atobe's mood darkened. If he were remotely interested in sleeping with women, perhaps her employment status would have been a bit more concrete. As it was, she was beginning to wear on his nerves with her incompetence. He decided that he would speak to Kabaji about it when he was feeling better. At the very least, perhaps Kabaji could wrangle a free shag out of the deal. Not that he _would_ , mind you. Likely, he'd take pity on the poor half-wit and create a position for her within the household. Atobe frowned again, popping three or four mints into his mouth and nearly catching his breath when he took another drink of water.

He didn't want to remember the previous night's events. Didn't want to recall his complete loss of dignity and the knowledge that he'd allowed that dirty-mouthed ruffian to strip off his pants and nibble on his buttocks _through his underwear_. He didn't want to recall how hard he got when Hirakoba cupped him between his legs and whispered obscenities in his ear.

'Pretty, proper rich boy, are you? You _smell_ like money', he'd murmured, three fingers as far into Atobe as they would go while he plucked at Atobe's nipples with his other hand. Tongue-tied and horny, Atobe had been unable to offer any sort of coherent answer as he'd slurred his words and twisted his hips and moaned into his pillow.

'You're like he is, I'll bet. Something beautiful and smart and not an embarrassment like me', Hirakoba had said, his words muffled at Atobe's shoulder when he'd gripped his ass tight and spread him open to push hard and fast inside him. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Atobe had sucked in a breath and fisted his pillow, unable to deny whatever Hirakoba had insinuated for his complete inability to catch his breath. Truthfully – in that moment – he couldn't have said what he was or whom he was like. All that he knew was the suffocating heat and intense pressure and how it felt to be fucked by a man who cared nothing for delicacy yet somehow knew, instinctively, precisely how to incite.

At some point, when Atobe's breath came in short, shallow pants and his legs were practically numb and still his dick was so hard that he'd begun to ache, Hirakoba had wrapped strong, tanned arms about his middle to haul Atobe upright and into his lap.

It was then that Atobe's head had lolled against Hirakoba's shoulder and he'd allowed his entire body to go slack. Hirakoba had appeared to prefer it, actually, sliding calloused palms along Atobe's inner thighs to spread him wide. It had hurt – it had burned like fire – but there, just along the edges of his discomfort was the familiar, persistent buzz of overwhelming pleasure.

'You're tight,' Hirakoba had whispered, sucking Atobe's neck and biting his earlobe. ' _Fuck_ , really, really tight. Are you a virgin, Oshitari-kun? You giving me your cherry tonight?'

Atobe had tried to shake his head, but he was tired and his limbs ached and god, how he'd wanted to just _come_. It wasn't going to happen, though. Not until Hirakoba touched his cock.

'You're not falling asleep on me, are you, Oshitari-kun? I hope that bartender didn't slip you a mickey or somethin'.'

He'd chuckled, moaning when Atobe tightened around him and he'd leaned forward, covering Atobe's back and forcing Atobe to bear his weight on his forearms as he really went at him.

'Prolly thought he was doin' me a favor, mm? What do you think, Oshitari-kun?'

Rocked forward – hard – with every thrust of Hirakoba's hips, Atobe's eyes rolled back and he licked dry lips when Hirakoba gripped his inner thighs, harder than before.

Atobe had moaned and Hirakoba had encouraged him with small grunts and murmurs of his own. Never had Atobe been to bed with someone who liked to talk as much as Hirakoba seemed to.

'What's your name?' he'd asked, palming Atobe's balls and gasping when he slipped further inside him. 'Tell me your name, again. I want to call it when I come.'

 _Touch me_ , Atobe had begged silently. _Make me come, ohgod, please_.

Atobe had bowed his head, whining and desperate and squirming against Hirakoba. He didn't touch himself – he wouldn't have been able to bear his own weight if he had – and with the very next sound he made, Atobe realized that he was near tears, he was so out of sorts and frustrated.

Hirakoba had kissed his shoulder, then. His neck, his ear, his voice low and rough when he'd rubbed his cheek against Atobe's. 'But you first, eh? You first…'

He'd wrapped long fingers snug around Atobe's cock, making those damnable purring, satisfied noises as he began to stroke him quickly. Atobe had shuddered, wanting to collapse against the bed and bite down hard on the pillow when his pleasure peaked. It was as he arched his back and thrust into the confines of Hirakoba's fist that he remembered what Hirakoba had wanted to hear.

'Keigo', he'd rasped, humping Hirakoba's fist and already lowering his chest to the bed. 'Keigo…'

Hirakoba had growled, then, gripping Atobe's hips and fucking him hard even as he called out his name four, five, six times.

Atobe didn't remember anything after that. At least, not until he'd awoken to a tangle of sweat and semen-stained sheets, the worst headache of his life and absolutely no idea where he was or what time it was.

Sighing again, he tipped the bottle back to drain the last of the water as he crunched what was left of his mints. What he wanted to forget, more than anything else, was the fact that – as he'd been changing and gathering his belongings – he'd been unable to find any evidence that Hirakoba had used a condom.

Behind his sunglasses, Atobe closed his eyes again. They'd be landing soon.

 

+++

It was sunny out and Tezuka had been awake for nearly half an hour though he'd yet to make any move toward actually getting out of bed. It was unlike him, to lay about being lazy when there were things to do, but then, he'd been doing and thinking all sorts of things that were unlike him.

Before him, Kite lay on one side, curled up rather compactly and hugging one of Tezuka's pillows. Having kicked off most of the blankets during the night, all that covered his nudity now was a strip of sheet over his hips. The contrast between the stark white of his sheets and Kite's skin had held Tezuka's attention far longer than was reasonable. He touched Kite's hip lightly, pulling his hand back when his lover shifted. The sheet dipped low and Tezuka swallowed - for someone with such a lean frame, Kite had a surprisingly round behind. It embarrassed Tezuka to realize how taken with it he truly was.

He'd held Kite throughout the night, pressed tight and protective and – for once – happy to cling. They hadn't stumbled into the bedroom until the wee hours of the morning; they'd made love for nearly two hours on the sofa and it had been overwhelming to realize how easily the mere touch of Kite's hands could slow time for Tezuka.

Rising on one elbow, Tezuka was slow, tentative, when he touched Kite's shoulder. Touching him once, though, wasn't nearly enough and when he slid his hand down Kite's arm, he wondered when the feel of this man's skin had become so familiar to him. So desirable.

With a little sigh, Kite shifted to his back – releasing the pillow to fling one arm over his head – and he stretched languidly when he opened his eyes. For a moment, they remained as they were – silent and still – while Tezuka gazed down at Kite to be met with a surprisingly endearing, bleary-eyed stare. Finally, Kite smiled, just that barest quirk of his lips, and reached up to tug on a lock of Tezuka's hair.

"Morning," he murmured.

Grunting acknowledgment, Tezuka smoothed his hair aside but didn't resist when Kite took his hand. He held it for a moment, still gazing at Tezuka, before closing his eyes and rubbing Tezuka's hand against his cheek.

Something hard and stubborn in Tezuka's heart wavered just that tiniest bit and he curled his fingers around Kite's. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, for want of anything more solicitous to say, and blinked when Kite flung an arm over his waist to snuggle close to his chest. His lips were warm and soft and Tezuka touched his hair gently when Kite edged one knee between Tezuka's legs.

"Mm," Kite murmured, pressing his palm tight to the middle of Tezuka's back. "Better than I have in a while."

Without any conscious thought at all, Tezuka stroked the back of Kite's neck, liking the way the longer strands of his hair clung to his fingertips and the way Kite burrowed closer against his chest.

"I like sleeping with you," he said.

"That's not surprising," Tezuka responded, wry, though he did not cease his affectionate petting.

Kite shook his head, kissed the center of Tezuka's chest. "No. I like waking up with you."

Tezuka was silent, bashful for Kite's easy honesty. He wondered if he would ever get used to it – the way Kite said precisely what he felt without regard for consequences or the other person's reaction – and that question brought home a startling realization. Already, Tezuka was looking ahead, considering a future that included Kite.

"Why?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Kite had a silver-tongue – even more so than Atobe – and he didn't hesitate to lay it on thick when he was in a lovey, playful mood. The mood he seemed to be in right now, in fact, and – again – Tezuka wondered how he'd come to know these things about him in so short an amount of time.

Glancing up, Kite grinned, wrapping both arms around Tezuka and snuggling against him. "You're all ruffled when you wake up. Your hair's a mess and your lips are puffy and you haven't had time to remember that you're supposed to hold me at arm's length."

"That's not true," he denied, even as he realized that it was. He stroked Kite's shoulder and then down along his ribs.

Kite snorted. "It is. But that's all right, I think. No matter how uptight you'll be by the time we sit down to breakfast, I got to see you this way for a few minutes, anyway."

Tezuka frowned. "You're making fun of me."

Serious now, Kite stared up at him – he looked younger without his glasses and it gave Tezuka a thrill to know that he was sharing a bed with someone he'd once thought to be completely lacking in any real human decency. Sometimes, he didn't mind being wrong, even as he cautioned himself that any misconceptions he may have formed previously remained to be seen.

"I'm not."

After a moment, Tezuka parted his lips to speak again, closing them again rapidly when his stomach rumbled. He blushed, not bothering to offer a protest when Kite eased him onto his back to nuzzle at his belly.

"I think it's time for breakfast, hm, Tezuka?"

Tezuka nodded, twisting when Kite tickled him with the faint rasp of his unshaven jaw, and muffled the laughter that nearly escaped his lips.

"I'll start breakfast and then we'll change these sheets."

Nodding, Tezuka stroked Kite's jaw with the backs of his knuckles, smiling a little when Kite attempted to tickle him again. "Will you be leaving after breakfast?" he asked, reluctant to come right out and ask Kite to stay. He didn't feel comfortable making assumptions where Kite's time was concerned.

Rising on one elbow, Kite leaned over Tezuka, laying one hand at the base of his throat. "You kicking me out, Tezuka?"

Flicking Kite's hand, Tezuka gazed up at him mutinously. "No."

"Ask me to stay with you, then. All day. Ask me."

Tezuka frowned. "You are unbearable."

Kite smiled then, and bent to kiss Tezuka's mouth softly. "I'm free all day," he murmured, kissing him again – soft, reverent, patient – and touching his face. "Let me spend it with you."

Tezuka closed his eyes, looped one arm around Kite's neck and parted his lips. With Kite's lips soft and yet insistent against his own, Tezuka nodded.

 

+++

 

Awakening in one's own bed, Atobe realized, was infinitely preferable to waking up anyplace else. Despite the lingering headache and upset stomach, his comfort was almost complete.

Upon his return home, he'd stumbled through the foyer, waving Kabaji away on the stairs to lock himself in his suite. As miserable as he'd been, Atobe had known that nothing could have served him as well as his own solitude – he'd drawn his _own_ bath, for God's sake – and he knew that he needed this time alone to organize his thoughts. To come to terms with all that had transpired so that he might emerge – again – confident and well adjusted.

After a final, thorough wallow in self-pity and a long, much-needed soak in rose and lemon scented water, Atobe had brushed his teeth, taken a handful of pills and crawled into bed drained of all emotion and bereft of any trace of clothing.

Six hours later, he awoke amidst a beloved, familiar nest of pillows and fluffy blankets and he stretched languidly. He yawned, humming his pleasure when his bare toes slid over cool, crisp sheets and he stretched his arms overhead to rest comfortably on a cool, satin pillow.

And that was when he became aware of the voices just on the other side of the door. He recognized Kabaji's voice - low with irritation - but not the other voice – insistent and somewhat familiar. There were very few male servants in the house and Kabaji never took that particular tone with any of them.

Brow furrowed, Atobe sat up a bit, scratching his chest and tossing his head to sweep his hair aside. He listened carefully; completely unable to leave his bed just yet, and wished he'd left his door ajar.

"…what the big deal is, anyway. I'm not going to ruffle the princess' pretty, precious feathers."

Kabaji grunted and Atobe could hear china clinking. He smiled, certain that he was about to be presented with a plate of Kabaji's delicious senbei and his favorite Darjeeling tea.

"You're ruffling mine," Kabaji said, voice completely neutral. "And you've only been here ten minutes."

"Look, I just want to see him. I want to talk to him, that's all," the other man said, petulance obvious even through the thick, walnut door. "Who're you anyway – his keeper?"

"Yes," Kabaji said simply.

"Wait," the man said, voice louder now as if he were pressed against the door. "Name your price. Whatever you want, it's yours, if you'll let me see him."

There was a long pause and Atobe leaned in a bit closer, the blankets falling away to bare his back and hips as he strained to catch every word. Truly, he wasn't certain as to whether he should be upset that Kabaji was treating him like a fragile, pathetic woman or that he was clearly considering allowing this…whatever-he-was…to bribe him.

The strange voice came again. "Look, I know he's in a bad place, okay? Just because I haven't been around doesn't mean I don't know exactly what's been going on." There was a brief pause and when the man spoke again, his voice was knowing. "With him _and_ with Tezuka."

"Then you must realize why I'm reluctant to allow you in." Kabaji's voice hardened then. "He's suffered enough. I will not allow you to make him feel worse than he already does. I'm not impressed enough with you to bother."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," the man said, sounding unimpressed himself, and then Atobe heard the jangle of what could have been car keys.

"Listen. Here's the keys to my Aston. If I work baby boy up, it's yours."

When Kabaji didn't answer, the man went on. "Aw, come on, that's a sweet deal, isn't it?"

"I have two of these in the showroom," Kabaji deadpanned. Atobe smiled again, though he was beginning to feel less than patient. He wanted his snack and if this visitor was someone Atobe had no interest in seeing, he would simply send him on his way.

"Well, I've only got the one. And I'm willing to offer it up in exchange for a little credit. Jeez, you're acting like I'm some kinda kidnapper. I've got my own money, remember?"

With Kabaji's grunt of acknowledgment and the jangling of keys, there was a moment of silence before Kabaji spoke again. "Very well. Take this to him. Don't wake him if he's still sleeping."

"Yeah, yeah," the man said, impatiently. "You want me to burp him when he's done? Sheesh."

Kabaji didn't laugh. Atobe imagined that he was as stony-faced as ever. "If you upset him in any way, I'll be waiting outside for you."

"Eheheh. Gonna toss me out, personally, eh?"

"Among other things," Kabaji said and Atobe had to muffle his amusement in the blanket. Regardless of who was here to see him, he could admit that he might actually enjoy seeing Kabaji rough somebody up for daring to offend his delicate sensibilities.

Sobering quickly, he told himself that – of course – such a barbaric thing would never come to pass. Kabaji wouldn't ever actually physically harm anyone. Would he?

Atobe returned to his place in bed, quickly tugging the blankets up when he heard the door handle turn. He heard Kabaji's retreating footsteps and the newcomer's light, careful ones as he steered the serving tray into the room and closed the door again, softly.

The room was dim, but not dark, as it was still light outside and the curtains weren't completely drawn. There was absolute silence for a moment before Atobe became aware of the sound of his visitor chewing. He froze, stiff with indignation. Whoever was in the room with him – bartering sneak that he was – was eating _Atobe's_ senbei.

He turned, movements slow and precise as he opened his eyes to take in the sight of his uninvited visitor and – when he realized whom he was staring at – he blinked once or twice, just to be certain.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, clearly taken aback.

Licking his fingers as he polished off a wafer – ginger, if Atobe were not mistaken - Echizen smiled and sat back in the stiff, high-backed chair. "What? You're not glad to see me?"

Narrowing his eyes at Ryoma, sitting up and not bothering to cover his bare chest and belly, Atobe considered him for a moment. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the one who's been emailing me and taunting me at every turn."

Rolling his eyes, Ryoma crossed his legs, ankle resting on one knee, and reached for another piece of senbei. "So dramatic. I'd hardly call two or three emails 'taunting you at every turn', Atobe."

"I call it as I see it and _stop_ eating my senbei!"

Ryoma shrugged, laying the half eaten wafer back on the plate and wiping his fingertips on his shorts. "Stingy as always. You've got a whole plate of them." He frowned then, poking at the pile of curled wafers. "They're all ginger, I think. I don't care for those so much."

Struggling to maintain some semblance of serenity, Atobe smoothed the back of his hair and motioned to the tray. "Would you mind bringing me the tray, please?"

Ryoma grinned. "What's in it for me?"

Outraged, Atobe scowled. He could feel all his hard-earned Zen flitting away with every moment he was forced to interact with Echizen Ryoma. "I won't call Kabaji back to carry your scrawny ass out of my house, that's what's in it for you."

Looking almost pitiful – not that Atobe was fooled for a moment – Ryoma frowned and scratched his cheek. Precisely the way he'd always done as a boy. "Guess you didn't miss me, after all."

When Atobe didn't answer right away, Ryoma shrugged again. "I missed _you_. I looked all over for somebody even half as much fun, but I never got lucky."

"I haven't heard a word from you, not in a while," Atobe reminded him, cautioning himself against letting Echizen's act pull him in. "Not even before Tezuka left."

Ryoma poured a cup of tea, though he made no move to drink it. "Meh, I didn't think it was such a good idea."

"What wasn't such a good idea?" Atobe asked, sneaking a glance at the wafers and tea. His stomach growled. He pulled the blanket up a bit, as though to cover it.

"You know," Ryoma said. "My old man always told me it was bad news to fall for your best friend's girl."

At Atobe's expression of obvious confusion, Ryoma grinned. Just looking at Atobe took him back and lifted his spirits; sparring with him was even better. Somehow, it didn't seem fair that Atobe could still look so perfect but Ryoma was certainly glad that he did.

"And if you want these goodies, lazy ass, you'd better get up and get 'em."

Irritated, and rationalizing that he could puzzle out Ryoma's nonsense after he'd gone, Atobe crossed his arms over his chest. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll eat 'em, myself," Ryoma said, squeezing a splash of lemon into the tea.

"You don't like ginger," Atobe reminded, smug.

"So? I'll eat 'em anyway."

It was then that Atobe knew that Ryoma suspected he was naked beneath the blanket. Once again – always – they were back to asinine dares. Atobe wondered why he wasn't completely weary of it. That was something _else_ he'd puzzle over when Ryoma was gone.

"You think I won't do it, don't you?"

Arching a brow, Ryoma slouched in the chair – one arm draped over the back. "I don't care if you do or not."

Scoffing at Ryoma's obviously put-upon indifference, Atobe turned to drape his legs over the edge of the bed. He flung the blankets aside and stood – regal and proud and confident – and the smile that Ryoma gave him then was the real thing.

Standing before him, Atobe rested both hands on his hips and tilted his head, regarding Ryoma coolly. "I won't always take the bait, you know. I'm a grown-up now."

Placing one foot on the rolling tray, Ryoma pushed it toward Atobe, who stopped it with his fingertips. He didn't lean on it or otherwise try to hide behind it.

"No, you're not," Ryoma said, amusement clear in the tone of his voice. "Admit it. You missed me."

Atobe sniffed, plucking a wafer from the plate and biting it in half. Lifting one shoulder casually, his gaze sharpened. "Maybe. Maybe I did."

 


	11. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

The sun was brighter than Rin remembered. As the ferry docked – rocking and shifting – Rin shielded his eyes with one hand and craned his neck to get a look at the sky overhead. Kagoshima wasn't so far from the islands he called home, but - looking at the near-empty shore and the sun that seemed twice its normal size – it might as well have been a world away. That Kite was no longer his only served to make the distance seem all the greater.

He'd paid no attention to the idle chit chat taking place around him on the trip over and when anyone attempted to engage him in conversation, he'd slid further down in his seat and tugged his cap over his eyes. It was a first: wanting to avoid contact with people. For someone like Rin who never knew a stranger, such disinterest in human contact seemed entirely detrimental to his state of mind. And it was all Kite's fault.

Plus, he didn't have his own room, his tatami was cheap and ratty and he felt like a loser.

He worried, the closer they got to port, that no one would be there to collect him. With his phone battery several days dead, there was no way to contact anyone until he arrived at the station. No doubt Kai had been waiting for him three days ago – when he'd been due to arrive and had instead holed up in a bar to drown his sorrows – and would now assume that Rin was probably not coming back at all. It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd gone running to his friends after a particularly ugly fight with Kite. Indeed, they were used to the angry breakups and subsequent reunions and had probably shared a laugh over Rin's latest assertion that he and Kite were through once and for all. Again.

Sitting alone on the ferry, however, with all his worldly possessions in a beat-up duffle bag between his feet, it didn't seem at all humorous to Rin. He sighed, ignored the hollow ache in his chest and didn't look over his shoulder.

Fukuoka was long behind him and while he didn't think his current situation was any fault of his own, he couldn't – in his heart – say that it was Kite's, either.

 

\+ + +

 

The bookstore – quiet but for the whisper of the air conditioning – was a welcome respite from the sweltering heat outside. Familiar and comforting with its tall, evenly stacked shelves, it was one of the few places that Tezuka could spend hours without once admonishing himself for dawdling and wasting time. Time in the bookstore was always time well spent.

Fingers curled around the strap of his messenger bag, Tezuka perused the poetry section though he had no intention of purchasing any of the slim, modestly bound volumes. Those titles that he admired the most were already housed in his considerable collection.

Spotting a familiar title, he rubbed his fingers together gingerly, as though considering the wisdom of reading such a poet's work in so public a place. Frowning minutely, however, he lifted his chin in almost-defiance and plucked the book from its place on the shelf. Only the very learned would recognize the author and the stigma attached to his name – even now – and possibly judge Tezuka as a result. He was quite alone and perusing the non-translated works and – he realized – completely unconcerned by some stranger's possible prejudice. With a rush of satisfaction and self-affirmation, Tezuka flipped through a few of the book's pages and reminded himself that he didn't have to hide. Didn't have to pretend.

Tracing the familiar lines of text with the barest tips of his fingers, Tezuka read aloud.

"Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed."

The sudden warmth at Tezuka's back – the breath at his ear, the hand on his shoulder – startled him and he stiffened, preparing to turn and confront whomever had the inexcusably bad manners to usurp his personal space.

Until the ill-mannered lout spoke.

"You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enameled mead."

Tilting his head, he was both pleased and embarrassed when Kite leaned in that much more.

"You're a fan of Wilde?"

Kite chuckled, rested one hand at Tezuka's hip to lean over his shoulder. "Not particularly."

"Yet you know his work?"

Tezuka could hear the smile in his voice, "I fucked an English major once."

When Tezuka stiffened this time, Kite gripped his waist to prevent his moving away and nosed against his ear in apology. "Only kidding."

"You are a barbarian," Tezuka informed him, snapping the book closed and shelving it efficiently. "Who has absolutely no shame. And let go, we're in a public place."

Releasing him reluctantly, Kite tucked both hands into his pockets when Tezuka stepped away from him. When Tezuka began to walk away, Kite followed.

"I don't care about that."

"I do," Tezuka answered, though he'd truly begun to wonder if he did or not. That Kite was so eager to touch him, to claim him regardless of their surroundings made Tezuka feel as though he mattered enough to risk censure. That Kite had absolutely no shame and very little regard for anyone's good opinion should have factored in. It didn't.

"Hey," Kite said, only a few steps behind.

Tezuka turned, expression neutral. "What?"

For a moment, Kite merely regarded him idly and as Tezuka frowned, prepared to turn away, Kite lifted his right hand in offering and Tezuka's eyes went wide.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, glancing around to make certain that they were truly alone.

Brow furrowed, Kite regarded the single white rose in his hand for a moment before lifting his gaze to Tezuka once more. "Well, it's been a while since I expressed my appreciation for the shop owner. So I thought I'd bring him a little token of my regard."

When Tezuka's frown only deepened, Kite sighed, rubbing his face, and took a step toward Tezuka. "I'm giving you this flower. Because you're my lover. Idiot."

Tezuka colored faintly, unable to look away though he felt he should confirm their solitude at least once more.

No one had ever done something like this before. Certainly, Atobe had sent secret, ostentatious bouquets of flowers when situations warranted, but never – not in all the time they'd been together – had Atobe sought him out in a public place to offer him a single, humble, obviously heartfelt token of his affection.

Tezuka pushed his glasses up and met Kite's gaze. "You walked along the street carrying a rose. In the hopes that you'd run into me?"

Kite grinned, lifted the rose to brush beneath his chin. "Nah. I was following you."

Tezuka frowned, though his heartbeat had picked up considerably since Kite had first offered him the rose. "Stalker."

Shrugging, Kite stepped closer, closing the distance between them easily. "I was hoping you'd let me pick you up."

Tentative, Tezuka reached for the flower, breath catching when his fingertips stroked Kite's. "Is that so?"

Kite relinquished the rose and watched Tezuka twirl it awkwardly between two fingers. "It is." Closer still, he touched Tezuka's shoulder and leaned in to murmur, "Come out with me tonight."

"Out?" His tone, light though it was, hinted at his surprise.

Kite laughed quietly. "What? You don't want to show me off, Tezuka?"

Looking away, Tezuka brushed his cheek with the satiny, colorless petals and knew – just _knew_ – that he was falling in love.

"Ass," he muttered.

"Say yes," Kite urged, expression suitably mischievous. "I missed you."

Warm from Kite's attention and the knowledge that he was so desired, Tezuka nodded once. "I need to go home, first."

Kite shrugged. "Whatever you want."

Clearly, he expected that he would be invited along and Tezuka suspected that – once inside his apartment – neither of them would truly wish to venture out again. The prospect held a certain appeal; there was no denying it.

"I'd like to pick up my mail and shower if we're going out."

At the mention of a shower, Kite's eyes lit up and Tezuka shook his head. "Let's go."

Just behind him – already falling into step – Kite pulled the shop's door open for Tezuka. "Right behind you."

The shop clerk glanced up, peering over the rims of his ancient spectacles at Kite and Tezuka in an attempt to ascertain if they'd stolen anything. Resting one hand at Tezuka's hip when he edged out behind him, Kite lifted his chin in casual acknowledgment.

And he winked.

 

\+ + +

 

 

The pier was scorching – the thin soles of his cheap flip-flops doing nothing to cushion or protect his feet. His bag was light against his back and had begun to feel like an extension of himself. He could have caught a flight back to Okinawa; he knew Kite would have given him the money. Taking the ferry, though, had been the better choice. The accessible breeze and sunlight had been far better than cramped seating and canned air. And, truthfully, Rin had needed the time alone. In the hours it had taken to reach Naha, Rin had said goodbye to Kite. It was done and it was final and there was no going back this time and, surprisingly, Rin's heart was still intact. He assumed that, having lost his excuse for his constant drifting, now was as good a time as any to discover precisely what he intended to do with himself in the immediate future.

It was time to make his own decisions and find his own way and he would do it. He _could_ do it.

Descending the short block of steps that lead to the main station, Rin glanced around quickly, hoping that someone had come to fetch him, even being a couple of days late as he was. Kai knew him well – knew how to read him and how to interpret his actions – and he felt certain that when he hadn't shown up as planned, he would return when the next ferry was due into port. Much of their understanding of one another was unspoken and Rin was, though he never said so, endlessly thankful for Kai's friendship.

Bright enough to bleach his immediate surroundings white, reflecting against the sand below, the sun was harsh against Rin's back and he lifted the hair from the back of his neck. It was then, as he shuffled along the walkway and wished desperately for some shade and a cold drink, that he noticed the familiar figure just ahead.

Leaning against the main gate, all long arms and legs and casual indifference, was Chinen. He wore baggy denim cutoffs and a black, sleeveless tee with a faded white skull and crossbones emblazoned on the front. The neck was stretched and the hem long since pulled loose; he'd been wearing that shirt since his first year of high school.

Paying no attention to the people who stepped around him, glaring and mumbling about ill-mannered hoodlums, Chinen inclined his head lifted the bottle of water he held in an odd sort of salute. Through the thin crowd, Rin lifted his hand in a casual wave. Kai had not come for him, but Chinen had.

"Sorry I'm late," was all he said, handing his bag off to Chinen and taking the water bottle in trade. It was still cold.

Silent as Rin drank deep from the bottle, Chinen merely watched him and – when he was done – shrugged lightly. "Better late than never."

He turned then, Rin's bag slung over his shoulder, his big boots clunking along. His laces were untied and his socks didn't match and when he switched the bag from one hand to the other, Rin caught a glimpse of the studded belt he wore. Behind Chinen, he smiled, rolling the cold bottle along the side of his neck. He'd missed this – this uncomplicated, easy silence – and when they reached the transport area, Chinen dug around in his pocket and withdrew a set of keys.

Just ahead was a small, junky car with peeling paint and rusted bumpers. Rin was certain that the car had – at one time – been blue or silver. Now, it was just gray.

"You got a new car?" he asked, knowing better than to run his fingertips over the surface of the hood lest he cut himself on the jagged, rusted paint.

Chinen shrugged, opening the back door to toss Rin's bag into the seat. "Other one died."

Rin didn't bother pointing out that this car looked like an even bigger piece of crap than the other had been. Money was tight – Chinen did the best he could.

He opened the door, peering inside tentatively – he didn't want a spring in the ass – and couldn't stifle his amusement. He laughed, taking in the plush, zebra-print seat covers and the shining, chrome skull gearshift and the fuzzy air-freshener that looked like a marshmallow with eyes.

Chinen's expression didn't change and he barely glanced at Rin when he started the car. On the third try, the engine turned over and the radio blared and the black smoke seeping out of the tailpipe was what finally spurred Rin into action.

Hopping in and slamming the door, he turned to Chinen with a bright smile and said, "She's a beauty, Hiroshi. You're a lucky man."

Chinen fastened his seatbelt and motioned for Rin to do the same before adjusting the radio's volume. It sounded like shit, but he didn't seem particularly concerned about it.

"You'll be glad for it when you're too drunk to get home, some night, and it's raining like hell outside."

There was no censure in Chinen's tone and Rin sighed, turning his head to the window. Chinen never lectured, never judged. He just accepted. But it didn't make Rin feel any better about himself or about the things he'd done in the past. He'd taken Chinen for granted for so long that it was rather a shock to realize that he'd never bothered to acknowledge it before now.

"Yeah, well," he began, voice quiet. "A little rain never hurt anybody, right?"

When Chinen didn't answer, Rin went on. "Besides, I'm thinking there won't be too many of those nights from now on."

Chinen turned the radio off and passed the car in front of him. "Hm. It's been a dry summer, that's true."

Ducking his head, Rin smiled. Chinen wouldn't let him apologize, wouldn't let him make promises, wouldn't let him admonish himself. Chinen didn't like regret.

"So why'd you come for me? I could have taken the bus."

"Kai's not home," Chinen said, reaching for the water and taking a long sip before handing it back to Rin. "He had to work a double shift and won't be back 'til later."

That Rin had nowhere else to go wasn't something that either of them would have mentioned. For the past year and a half, Rin had stayed with Kai when he wasn't with Kite. He wasn't welcome at home anymore and so he didn't bother returning time and again in the hopes that his parents would forgive and forget. Rin wasn't the good son – he didn't make his parents proud. And so he stayed away.

"You can crash at my place 'til later," Chinen told him.

Rin nodded, picking at a loose thread on his pants. "Sure, man. Thanks." And then, "Don't you have to work?"

Chinen nodded. "Later tonight. You'll be asleep when I go."

Feeling ashamed, Rin risked a glance at Chinen, who merely continued to watch the road, though Rin knew he could feel the weight of his gaze. Chinen pretended not to notice things all the time when, truthfully, he was the most observant person Rin knew.

"I'm sorry I'm such a drag."

"You're not a drag. You're not a bother."

"I sure feel like one," he said, miserably.

"That's your problem," Chinen told him. "You're more than what you think. You always have been."

They were silent, then. There was really nothing left to say.

 

\+ + +

 

 

At Tezuka's behest, he and Kite had taken a cab to the restaurant Kite had chosen for dinner. It was, as it turned out, a wise decision. Halfway through the appetizer, the rain had begun to pour.

Seated across the small, square table situated so privately in a far corner of the room, Tezuka filled both their wineglasses and leaned back in his chair. The candlelight flickered, glinting on Kite's glasses and, he imagined, probably his own, as well. The light was soft, flattering, and very conducive to the sort of romantic atmosphere that Kite seemed to enjoy so much. That his magnanimous nature extended so easily outside of the bedroom had been rather a shock to Tezuka and the more frequent their interactions became, the clearer it became that Kite was – in fact – all that he'd first seemed. And perhaps a bit more, besides.

That was not to say that Kite was not an overbearing, smug, know-it-all on occasion, for certainly he was, but rather that Tezuka no longer felt that those character traits were something he was unable to overlook. Not when Kite could gaze across the table at him as though he were the single most important, interesting person in the vicinity.

"What is it?" he asked, when nearly twenty minutes had passed and Kite had yet to turn his eyes elsewhere.

Arching a brow, Kite reached for his wineglass, swirling the rich, burgundy liquid idly before taking a small sip. "What is _what_?"

"You're staring at me," Tezuka said, voice low.

"You don't like it when I stare at you?"

Brows drawn, Tezuka smoothed the napkin in his lap and straightened his shoulders. "I suppose I don't mind it. I just wonder why you do it so often."

Kite smiled – that same smile he'd offered so long ago when he'd met Tezuka over a net for the first time. "That's a silly question. I stare at you because I enjoy looking at you."

Tracing the pattern on the flatware before him, Tezuka glanced up to hold Kite's gaze for several long moments before looking away again. Beneath the table, Kite nudged his foot. "Tezuka. Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Tezuka shook his head, reached for his own goblet. How to admit that he enjoyed the attention without somehow opening the gates for still deeper intimacy? Always waiting for an opening, Kite made advances wherever Tezuka allowed them – and sometimes where he didn't.

"Not uncomfortable," he said. "Not really."

Outside, the rain pelted the windows and soaked the ground. It dripped from the awning over the restaurant's entrance and it glared on the streets in the headlights of dozens of passing cars and buses. At their table, it was cozy and dry and Tezuka's wine sat warm and full in his belly. It surprised him to realize how comfortable he felt – even knowing that he was on a date with another man in full view of so many people. Also surprising was Kite's careful observance of public niceties. He did not test boundaries or seek to shock others with his attentiveness. He was polite to a fault and very, very careful not to call attention to himself or to Tezuka. It was in this way that Tezuka realized precisely how well Kite seemed to understand him. Or – more likely – it was simply one more similarity that they shared.

"You understand me, I think," he told Kite, unsure of how to explain what he'd been thinking about.

"How do you mean?" Kite asked, spooning a few more marinated beans onto Tezuka's saucer.

Accepting silently, Tezuka chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "You understand that I don't want or need constant acknowledgment, and you're able to pay attention to me without going overboard."

"Something, I assume, your previous lovers have been unable – or unwilling – to do?"

Tezuka frowned. Kite was careful not to speak ill of Atobe, but sometimes – like now – it seemed that he was doing precisely that, perhaps unintentionally. "Never unwilling. Just…yes. Unable. You do it easily."

Kite shrugged, falling silent when the waitress returned with their entrees. He smiled absently, thanked her for her trouble and waited until she was out of hearing range before he continued. "I could say the same about you, Tezuka."

"Me?" Tezuka asked, taken aback by Kite's words. It was difficult for him to imagine that he would ever be able to make Kite feel the way _he_ felt when they were together. Upon further reflection, he realized that it was unreasonable to think Kite incapable of the same thoughts and feelings that he was experiencing, himself.

"Aa," Kite nodded. "I think you understand me, somehow. I don't have to explain myself to you constantly."

Tezuka snorted. "As if you would."

Kite tilted his head, considering Tezuka. "Wouldn't I?"

Those words – that tone of voice – swept Tezuka with sudden, unexpected heat and an almost uncomfortable self-awareness. He ducked his head to hide his reaction and turned his attention to dinner. After a moment, Kite did the same.

Though they passed the remainder of their meal in relative silence, it seemed normal for the both of them. Tezuka realized that they didn't need words between them and the contentment that such companionable silence offered made him question his own motivation where Kite was concerned.

 

\+ + +

 

Heat rose from the pavement, barely stifled by the recent downpour, and Tezuka was too full and too warm and too content to give much thought to Kite's hand at the small of his back as they left the restaurant. Once, he might have considered such touching too proprietary, too possessive, but he'd begun to wonder if perhaps he hadn't been hasty in his previous assumption. It seemed, now, that Kite merely enjoyed touching him and, better still, he didn’t seem to give much thought to who might see and how they might interpret such obvious closeness.

Kite did not, however, go out of his way to call attention to their relationship. He was circumspect, but affectionate. He saved all his most intimate attentions for those times when they were alone and Tezuka liked that he never had to either seek affection or repel it when it came to Kite.

"Should we go home?" he asked, glancing up at the sky for any hint of rain.

"My home or your home?" Kite asked, amusement clear in his voice.

"You know what I mean," Tezuka murmured, not in the mood for teasing.

Kite was silent for a moment, considering, and finally he rubbed Tezuka's back and turned toward the strip of shops ahead instead of calling a cab, as Tezuka had anticipated he might.

"I do," he said. "Come with me, Tezuka."

Tezuka followed, walking just at Kite's side, but did not ask where they were going. He felt edgy, expectant, electric under the bright lights and cover of night. Kite's elbow brushed his own as they walked and Tezuka turned his wrist to graze Kite's hand with his knuckles. The look Kite gave him, just a sideways glance on a crowded sidewalk, made him shiver in almost-anticipation.

For two blocks they walked – the backs of their hands touching – in absolute silence and when they crossed an intersection together without seeming to have any real destination in mind, Tezuka turned to Kite in question.

And Kite's fingers closed around his own to tug him into an alley. Dark and damp and almost eerily quiet, Tezuka barely had the chance to prepare his question when Kite pressed him back against the wall and leaned in to kiss his mouth.

"Eishirou," was all that he could manage when Kite's hands slid under his jacket and up his back to protect him from the rough stone behind him.

Kite did not answer and, instead, tilted his head to kiss him deeply – the way he hadn't all afternoon. The way Tezuka had _wanted_ him to.

He gripped Tezuka's hand, pressed it to the front of his pants and breathed hot against Tezuka's neck. He was hard. So quickly and so completely, he was fully erect and pressed tight to Tezuka's hip.

"This is what you do to me," he whispered, nuzzling Tezuka's jaw and rubbing his lips against Tezuka's ear. "Say you want me, too."

Lips parted, hands pinned between Kite's body and his own, Tezuka couldn't say it – he couldn't say _anything_. But he didn't say no.

Kite's fingers twined with his own for only a moment while he plucked at the buttons of Tezuka's pants and when he eased open the zipper, he kissed Tezuka again.

"Do me, too," he said, catching Tezuka's earlobe between his teeth. " _Touch me, Tezuka_."

Tezuka moaned, gripped Kite's collar to keep him close when he thumbed open his pants to slide his hand inside. "Yes," he said. "Yes, yes." Over and over, so quietly that he wasn't sure if he were speaking to Kite or to himself.

Ankles crossed, legs entwined, they clung to one another, desperate and wanting. And still, for Tezuka, it wasn't quite close enough. Eyes squeezed shut, Tezuka gasped for breath when Kite stroked him fast, twisting his wrist in just that perfect, delicious angle.

"Breathe with me," he urged, lips against Tezuka's when he exhaled. "Stay with me."

Tezuka wasn't going anywhere. And he wasn't sure he wanted to, ever again. Things had changed – something was different. Something unspoken and subtle and entirely overwhelming.

First in counterpoint and then – the closer they drew to completion – in perfect sync, Tezuka took Kite's breath and gave it back until they were no longer kissing and no longer whispering. They simply breathed.

Hot and thick against Tezuka's palm, Kite's cock nudged the heel of his hand, leaking clear fluid, until Tezuka tightened his grip, pressed his thumb to that spot that made Kite tense and tremble. He followed suit, moving against Tezuka in exactly the way he seemed to require and when Tezuka finally opened his eyes, Kite's eyes were dark with arousal and deep with something else behind the lenses of his glasses.

Tezuka's lips slid hot across his cheek to lick his ear and his neck and Kite shuddered in his arms, pressing his face to Tezuka's neck.

"Coming," was all he could manage, strangled and urgent and nearly broken and he came in Tezuka's hand just that split second before Tezuka clutched at him and followed him over.

"Eishirou," he hissed, one arm tight around Kite's neck when his dick slid in the path of his own release – along Kite's hand and wrist.

He said it again, Kite's name, several more times and Kite wrapped him tightly in his too-tight embrace, not asking for more and not seeking to quiet him. They were alone and this was the way Tezuka liked it.

Kite's silence was expectant, heavy with words that Tezuka both dreaded and yet yearned to hear. In the end, however, they shared a few more hot, damp kisses – the humidity between them almost unbearably sticky – while they straightened one another's clothing.

And Kite never said a word.

\+ + +

 

They held hands in the cab, on the way back to Tezuka's apartment. Neither spoke, though Kite's fingers tightened around Tezuka's once or twice. The cab driver didn't notice and Tezuka doubted that he would have cared if he had. He looked tired, haggard and Tezuka experienced a wave of sympathy for this man who couldn't possibly have ever known the ridiculous, buoyant happiness that he'd recently come to know. If he'd ever known it, would he be able to look like that? Like there was nothing to look forward to and nowhere to go except these same roads, day after day?

Leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes nearly closed – the marks left by Tezuka's kisses standing out stark against his skin, off-set by the pristine white of his collar – Kite offered him a wan smile when Tezuka stroked his fingers with the edge of his thumb.

He mouthed something to Tezuka, his lips only barely moving, but an overpass blocked the moonlight and Tezuka shook his head in confusion. But then Kite was reaching into his pocket to withdraw his mobile and the moment passed.

Tezuka sat back in the seat, eyes closing in relaxation as Kite spoke quietly into the phone.

"Good," he said. "Thanks for that."

Pause.

"Yes. Yes, I know that."

Tezuka turned his head, watched Kite's expression change. Brows drawn in faint irritation, he was silent while the other person spoke. After only a few moments, it was patently obvious that the conversation was not turning out to be a good one.

"Did Rin tell you that or are you drawing your own conclusions?"

Kite squeezed his hand and offered him an apologetic look. Tezuka attempted to smile in return, but was certain that he didn't quite manage it. Not that Kite was particularly distracted by it; he was getting angry.

"You're letting your own feelings get in the way, Hiroshi. I'm not the bad guy, here."

Pause.

"Nobody is in the wrong, that's what I'm trying to tell you."

Kite frowned, eyes narrowing. Tezuka tried to pull his hand away, but Kite only held him tighter.

"Just take care of him. It will work itself out, but he can't be alone right now – you know how he is."

Closing his eyes, Kite pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, though the person to whom he spoke could not see him. "Yes. Yes, I know. I appreciate it. All right, then. Later."

Snapping his phone closed and pocketing it again, Kite offered Tezuka a sheepish look. "Sorry. Old friends, you know?"

Tezuka nodded, working hard to ignore the tiny pinprick of apprehension Kite's upset seemed to incite. "Just old friends?"

Having the decency to look guilty, Kite brought Tezuka's hand closer to rest in his lap. "Well…not entirely. It's a long story."

When Tezuka didn't answer right away, Kite sat up in his seat and regarded him with renewed resolve. "But one I'd planned to tell you before now."

"Why didn't you?" Tezuka asked, careful to keep his tone light. It was not an accusation and he didn't intend that Kite suspect that it was.

Sighing heavily, he shrugged a little and stared over Tezuka's shoulder to the shadows beyond the window. "I've been a little distracted, I suppose. Too wrapped up in the good stuff to want to dwell on the bad."

Tezuka nodded and didn't move when Kite leaned his head against Tezuka's shoulder.

"It's old history; nothing to worry about now."

"So why the upset now?" Tezuka asked. "Someone seemed angry with you."

"Yeah," Kite said. "They are mad, I guess. Rin's the victim in all this and if making me the villain helps him get through it, then who am I to say otherwise?"

He laughed, then, bitter and without humor. "You know how it is, Tezuka. There's two sides to every story. It's too easy for things to get turned around in the retelling of it."

"Lost in translation," Tezuka murmured, leaning his head against Kite's. "I think I understand."

"Yeah. Just like that: lost in translation. I'll tell you about it sometime. When we're bored and maudlin and looking to swap war stories over cheap wine."

Tezuka smiled faintly, understanding even when part of him didn’t really want to. He could feel it, the shadow of jealousy hovering in the back of his subconscious, and he wanted no part of it. Kite was here. Kite was with _him_ and not someone else.

Tezuka wondered when it had become so important when so little time had passed.

He paid for their cab, walked with Kite in silence until they reached the elevator. Once inside, however, Kite turned to Tezuka, pulling him close and hiding his face in the curve of Tezuka's neck. "I enjoyed myself tonight," he murmured. "Thank you."

Stroking his hair, the back of his neck, Tezuka held him carefully. "As did I."

After a moment, he mused, "Was that our first date?"

Kite laughed suddenly, his breath hot against Tezuka's neck. "I think it was, actually." He straightened, touched Tezuka's hair. "Not bad, as far as first dates, go, huh?"

Lips pursed, Tezuka smoothed his hair again. "I think we're a bit out of sequence."

"Well, probably. But I'm not complaining," Kite said, brushing his thumb across Tezuka's lower lip. "You're a good date."

Tezuka blushed – he couldn't help it when Kite said such embarrassingly sappy things – and just as it was on the tip of his tongue to ask what Kite had mouthed to him in the cab, the elevator pinged and the door slid open.

Kite hung back when Tezuka opened the front door. "You look nice all dressed up," he said, tone heavy with innuendo.

Frowning minutely, Tezuka pushed the door open. He was beginning to recognize Kite's teasing when faced with it, now. "Thank you," he returned, not rising to the bait – Kite wanted to banter, wanted to play. "You don't look half bad, yourself."

"You're such a priss sometimes, Tezuka," he said, toeing off his shoes and locking the door.

Tezuka shot him a look, but was only half paying attention as he stood at the counter, flipping through his mail. One envelope stood out to him – creamy off-white, the lettering embossed baby-blue – with its familiar return address.

Turning it over, he opened it, careful not to tear the front of the envelope and – when he held the invitation in his hand – he realized that this was what Ryoma had been talking about the last time he'd visited.

'…invite you to join me in celebration of my sister's engagement in a bit less traditional an atmosphere than our parents might expect.'

And at the bottom, in Fuji's familiar, elegant scrawl:

_Tezuka,_

_You've been in confinement long enough. Takashi cautions me against it, even now, but I will have absolutely no reservations in coming to fetch you if I do not hear from you in a sufficient amount of time. The gang will all be here. And perhaps a few new members, whom I have still not managed to warm to. But that's a story for another day._

_Come home. And don't come alone – this is a festive occasion, not a funeral._

_Fondly,_

_Shuusuke_

 

Tezuka smiled – he couldn't help it. If anyone could see inside him – through the considerable defenses and icy self-preservation – it would be Fuji. As much as Tezuka would have liked to deny it, the truth remained.

Over his shoulder, Kite asked, "What's that? Somebody getting married?"

Nodding, Tezuka lay the invitation down and headed toward the bedroom to change out of his hot, sticky clothes. "Aa. My friend's sister. Fuji is hosting an engagement party for her, it would seem."

Following behind, though a bit slower than Tezuka, Kite hummed thoughtfully. "Are you going?"

Tezuka snorted derisively. "I can't see that Fuji will give me much of an alternative, as his letter so helpfully clarified."

Kite nodded, sat down on the edge of Tezuka's bed. "Obligation calls, I suppose."

"I was planning a trip home soon, anyway. My family wants to see me and I've some old ties I'd been thinking of renewing."

Kite blinked, maintaining his silence despite the surprise that Tezuka's impending trip brought. He scratched his temple and curled his toes against the carpet. "Can you bring a guest?"

Tezuka grew still, paused with his shirt stretched over his head. He lowered it, then, pressing the shirt to his chest and regarding Kite warily. "I suppose so. If I wanted to."

When Tezuka only seemed to withdraw further and no invitation was forthcoming, Kite blushed faintly, embarrassed for his presumption and hurt that Tezuka seemed to have no intention whatsoever in asking Kite to accompany him.

"Does that mean I'm not invited?"

"Kite," Tezuka began, sounding tired and put-upon. "I don't think…"

Expression hard, Kite stood, then. "Oh, it's _Kite_ now, is it? What happened to 'Eishirou'? Or is that only for when I'm making you come?"

Flush with impending anger, Tezuka tugged his t-shirt on and glared at Kite balefully. "Don't be ridiculous. You've only ever called me by my last name, so I fail to see where you have any room to object to my doing the same.

"Furthermore, there will be people there who don't know that I'm seeing someone else – _you_. And I think it would be best if I went alone."

Kite was surprisingly calm when he nodded. He straightened his jacket, smoothing down his shirt and adjusting his tie and something in the way he looked at Tezuka changed. He was cool, distant, though Tezuka could feel his heat simmering just below the surface.

"Very well. I didn't realize that I was such an embarrassment to you, Tezuka. If I had, I can assure you that I wouldn't have troubled you as often as I have."

"Eishirou, please. This is not-"

"No," he interjected, one hand on the doorframe when he paused to look back at Tezuka. "Clearly you were unable to find a way to let me know that I'm not good enough for public consumption. Don't worry – I get it, now."

He turned away, toward the door, and Tezuka followed behind, rubbing his face and sighing heavily. "This is ridiculous," he called out. "Eishirou, this is stupid. It's only a party."

At the door, Kite glanced back at him, rigid with restraint and repressed hurt. Tezuka had never thought to see such an expression on his face. Not for something like _this_. This wasn't a rejection. It was…it was…

"I think I overestimated you, Tezuka. I apologize for the misunderstanding."

"Kite," Tezuka said, voice sharper than he'd intended. "What did you say to me in the cab? Before you took that call."

Kite swallowed, wavering for only a moment until he took firm hold of his resolve and his expression hardened again.

"Just your name. That's all."

Lips parted, wanting to call him back but unsure of precisely what he wanted to hear, Tezuka's words simply would not come.

Kite looked away. "Have a safe trip, Kunimitsu. Be well."

He closed the door hard behind him and, despite the paralyzing, debilitating emptiness within him, Tezuka did not call him back.

 


	12. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

 

He knew it was ridiculous. He didn't need Tezuka calling after him to tell him how ridiculous it was, either. He was ridiculous, not _stupid_ , and now – two days after the fact and not a single word from Tezuka – Kite wished he hadn't allowed his pride to dictate his actions.

There was really no getting away from the truth, though, and the truth had nearly blindsided Kite with rather startling clarity: Tezuka's dismissal had _hurt_.

He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose; he'd been in the library for hours and the words in his text had all begun to run together and still he didn't consider returning to his empty apartment. Having spent hours at the gym, exhausting himself and yet still unable to shake his restlessness, he'd showered and taken the bus to the university. He'd spoken to two of his professors, wanting to discuss the possibility of increasing his courseload so as to begin his residency early. He'd resolved nothing, but hadn't really expected to, honestly. Part of him had felt like they'd only been humoring him, but he knew that his sour mood was responsible for his cynical thinking. Acknowledging it didn't go far in making him feel any better, in any event, and so he'd done what he typically did when he was restless and unsettled: he hit the books.

He put his glasses back on, then, sighing and attempting to pick up where he'd left off. He knew that he'd have to go home, eventually – perhaps he'd call Chinen and see how things were going.

"Kite-san?"

Glancing up, Kite squinted against the fluorescent lighting and managed a polite smile for the girl standing just beyond his table. "Good evening, Yuki-san."

Frowning minutely, the girl touched her barrette in a purely self-conscious gesture and leaned closer to Kite, her hip against the edge of the table and her fingertips light at the surface. "Please don't call me 'Yuki-san'," she admonished. "You make me sound like an old woman."

He waved her toward the chair opposite him and shifted his book closer to his chest. "No one would mistake you for an old woman, Yuki-san."

She smiled, soft and serene, and sat gracefully across from Kite. "And yet you still call me Yuki-san?"

Unsmiling, but no less attentive, Kite regarded her silently for a moment. "What would you have me call you, then? That would be appropriate."

Taken aback by his answer, Yuki colored faintly and folded her hands in her lap. "Well…I suppose I…"

Lovely brow marred by the frown she wore, Yuki lowered her eyes, clearly uncertain and unconfident. In a gesture of respect and good intention, Kite closed his book and offered her his undivided attention.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said, marveling at her ability to blush deeper still. After a moment, he murmured, "Yuki-chan," and the girl looked up at him again. Her approval with his manner of address was apparent and now Kite – idiot sap that he was – would have to find some way to let this woman know that he would never be the sort of romantic interest for her that she probably wished he could be. Most women steered clear of him from the very beginning – most could sense his lack of interest and consideration where the fairer sex was concerned – but this one had approached him on more than one occasion.

Unfortunately for Kite, he genuinely liked Yuki and would have liked to have her for a friend.

"Please," she said, laughing nervously and tucking long strands behind her ears. "You'll make it worse."

He laughed, too – a quiet sort of amusement – and rested both elbows on the table. "You're studying late tonight."

Settling her purse in her lap, Yuki shrugged a little. "So are you."

"Perhaps I should get used to it. I'm considering increasing my course load so that I can begin my residency early."

Eyes wide, Yuki tipped her head to one side and watched him closely. "You're already ahead of the curve, Kite-san. Much further and you'll leave us all behind."

"Getting ahead is always a good thing," he said, not unkindly. "I'm certain that you could do the same, if you wanted to."

"I don't know about that. I barely have time for anything else as it is. If I pushed myself any harder, I wouldn't have any sort of a social life at all."

When Kite didn't respond, Yuki leaned in a little. "Don't you have someone that you care for, Kite-san? Someone important enough that you'd want to save a little spare time for?"

She blushed again, embarrassed for having been so forward, but she held his gaze nonetheless. Kite liked that about her. She possessed humility and self-restraint, but was brave enough in her own way.

"I thought I did," he finally said, hoping that he didn't sound as pathetic as he felt. "And I think I would have spared more than a little time for that someone."

"What happened?" she asked quietly; wanting to know so much of him and yet completely aware of overstepping any boundaries.

Taking off his glasses and polishing them with the hem of his shirt, Kite considered her question. He could answer with only a handful of words or he could talk all night and the bottom line would remain the same.

"I was an idiot," he finally said, unable to notice the way she studied him without his glasses. When he settled them into place again, she dropped her gaze a bit, moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"I was impatient and arrogant," he went on, satisfied that he could admit it – even to this girl, who knew nothing of him and nothing of the loss he felt. "I should have been more careful. I wasn't."

Her sympathy was obvious to him. As much as her barely-hidden eagerness. "Are you so certain it's over, then? If you love her so much, shouldn't you try to get her back?"

He smiled a little. "Who said anything about love?"

"There's regret in your voice, Kite-san. Where there's regret, there's an important regard." She smiled, hesitant. "I believe that you love her. And even though I don't know you very well, I can't imagine someone like you letting the one you love get away."

Kite was silent, letting his mind wander, reliving the hurt and upset that was his that night – increasing with every step that took him away from Tezuka. His chest ached now as it had then and he knew that there was no getting away from the truth. And the truth was that he missed Tezuka. Wanted Tezuka _back_.

But was that love?

Looking into Yuki's eyes – her earnest expression – he couldn’t say that it wasn't.

"Come on," he said, gathering his belongings and getting to his feet – it was nearly eight o'clock. "I'll walk you to the bus."

Yuki smiled, blushing with pleasure and quick to join him. "Thank you, Kite-san. I appreciate it."

This, Kite told himself as he walked with her toward the stairs, was the reason men needed women. They were so much smarter in all the ways that truly mattered.

 

\+ + +

 

 

The train was packed. Tezuka, with a novel lying closed in his lap and his face turned toward the window, wondered if traveling with a companion made any trip easier. Despite the opportunities to engage in conversation that had been his, he was careful to avoid small talk and to appear interested in something else – anything else – those few times that a stranger had offered him a polite smile or an offhand comment. If Kite had accompanied him, there would be no need for small talk and no need to work so hard to avoid it. Thinking about it now, however, made his chest hurt and he swallowed hard when he flipped idly through the pages of a book that he had no interest in.

Stupid, he told himself. Stupid for letting him walk away over something so inconsequential. The truth was, regardless of Tezuka's apparent unwillingness to discuss it, that he'd much rather have remained hidden away with Kite instead of stepping outside of his comfort zone merely in order to attend a gathering with people he wasn't even certain he knew anymore. The one thing that he'd been certain of, though, had been the surety that there was no place in his old, responsible, strait-laced life for the idyllic love affair he'd been indulging himself in over the last few weeks. At the time, he hadn't imagined that Kite would understand and, in an effort to justify his secrecy and lack of consideration, had told himself that his going alone would be better for everyone involved. Better for his family, the majority of his friends – certainly it would be better for Atobe, if they managed to cross paths. What he hadn't considered, and what he now knew he should have, was that it was better for everyone except for himself.

And for Kite.

Tezuka sighed, bumped his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was on the precipice of a spectacular headache and was glad that he'd called Oishi instead of his mother. He'd spend a day or so with Oishi and Kikumaru and, hopefully, he'd manage to put everything into proper perspective by the time they departed for Fuji's party. This perspective hinged, he knew, solely on his ability to put Kite out of his mind and he wasn't at all certain that he would be able to do that.

Slipping his book back into the bag he carried with him, his fingers lingered over the surface of his mobile and he thought about how easy it would be to simply call Kite. To admit that he'd handled things badly and that he couldn't stop thinking about him. That he wasn't ashamed of Kite and that he wanted to hear his name on Kite's lips again. They were truths – everything he wanted to say – but even so, Tezuka doubted his ability to articulate his feelings. Since he and Kite had gone their separate ways, Tezuka's self-doubt had kicked into overdrive. What if Kite had already put their affair behind him? Chalked the whole thing up to nothing significant and decided that being on his own was preferable to any attachment to someone else? He'd been in a relationship before he'd met Tezuka and, truthfully, Tezuka couldn't shake the idea that he'd been nothing but a rebound. If he had, if he never even knew for certain, he supposed that he wouldn't be surprised.

Men didn't fight for Tezuka. They only seemed interested in claiming him, somehow, without ever really attempting to understand who he was and what secrets and emotions he kept so close to his heart. Before this, he'd begun to think that Kite was different, that not only did he _get_ Tezuka, but that he wanted to know _everything_ about him. It had been a sobering thought, but clearly a fanciful one.

Even now, he could recall Kite's voice – soft when they got close and softer still when they touched – and he closed his eyes when the train began to finally move. When he tuned his surroundings out, closed his eyes against the light, he could almost recall the way it felt to be wrapped so tightly in Kite's embrace. He thought of the way Kite pushed everything aside to focus completely on Tezuka and how he'd made Tezuka's pleasure seem as important to him as his own. He remembered dark, green eyes and the way he stared so intently. He remembered the way he'd say anything – _do_ anything – if it brought Tezuka pleasure or put a smile on his face. Most of all, he remembered the way Kite touched him – chaste, but affectionate – regardless of who might be watching. He remembered how certain he'd been that he was falling in love and how easy and normal it felt.

But it was far better to tell himself that he'd read more into it than had actually been present. To think that it had been real and that he'd tossed it aside for nothing at all hurt too much to risk thinking on it overmuch.

He took out his phone, traced familiar numbers and let the melancholy take him again. It wasn't until he tapped a single number to listen to the ringing of another possible connection that he told himself, again, that he was better off.

Better the devil he knew than the one he did not.

\+ + +

 

Kabaji's apron was surprisingly masculine. Ryoma marveled that such a big man could wear an apron and not look like a tool. He'd certainly never wear one, but Kabaji totally pulled it off. Ryoma assumed that he was incredibly self-assured, which was sort of bizarre given his history with Atobe.

"When will those be ready?" he asked, leaning over the counter to ogle the cream-filled pastries Kabaji had been working on when he'd arrived not ten minutes before.

Kabaji moved sideways, crowding Ryoma until he stepped aside and out of the way. Frowning thoughtfully, Kabaji shifted a few pastries to make room for a few others. "An hour, perhaps."

"Awesome," Ryoma murmured, eyeing up a particularly crispy looking one near the edge of the pan. He had big plans for that little, golden number.

"They're not for you," Kabaji told him, wiping his hands on the apron and rolling excess dough into a small ball.

"Huh? I just want one," Ryoma said, crossing his arms petulantly. "You can't spare just _one_?"

"No," Kabaji answered. "They're for a party Atobe is attending tomorrow afternoon."

"Hmph," Ryoma huffed, flopping onto a bar stool and gazing longingly at the bowl of creamy, thick filling that he would only be allowed to taste if he found a reason for Kabaji to leave the room for five seconds. "What kinda party?"

"I don't know the details, you'll have to ask him."

Talking to Kabaji was maddening. Ryoma wondered why he kept coming around. But then he remembered – he wanted Keigo.

"Who's he going with?"

"I believe that he is escorting a young lady."

Ryoma scowled. Like hell he was _escorting a young lady_. "Sounds lame."

Kabaji didn't respond, attention again effectively garnered by the beautiful, delicious pastries. Ryoma supposed he didn't blame him all that much, really. They were rather distracting. But then his mobile vibrated against his hip.

"Hold that thought," he told Kabaji, checking the number on the screen and spinning to face away from him.

"Hi Buchou."

Hesitating only a moment, Tezuka quickly returned the greeting. "That was quick."

"Yeah, well, I was just sitting here talking to myself so I didn't have far to go."

There was a moment of silence and he continued. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Aa," Tezuka reassured him. "I'm on my way to Oishi and Kikumaru's for the weekend. I remembered you mentioning Fuji's party and wanted to ask if you were attending."

"Oh, right, the engagement party. Yeah, I'm going. You bringing your rough stuff?"

"No, I'm not," Tezuka said, the tone of his voice a clear indication that he wasn't interested in elaborating. Unfortunately, Ryoma was no good at taking a hint.

"Why not? He's not into the formal thing?"

Personally, Ryoma thought Kite would probably clean up pretty nice, but he didn't tell Tezuka so as it would probably only piss him off.

Hesitating for a moment, Tezuka finally breathed softly into the phone in what Ryoma could only assume was supposed to be a sigh but really just managed to be borderline arousing.

"It's over," was all that he said, and the silence that followed drove the point home better than words could manage.

"Hm. Over, huh? You want to talk about it?"

Tezuka's answer was immediate. "No, I don't."

"Your call, Buchou," Ryoma was quick to say. But he couldn't let it go like that – not without knowing _something_. "Just tell me one thing."

When Tezuka maintained his silence, Ryoma assumed he would allow one more question. "Did he fuck you over?"

Tezuka sighed again. "No, nothing like that. I-I think I'm at fault."

Eyebrows raised, Ryoma glanced over his shoulder to make sure Kabaji wasn't eavesdropping. While he was still standing just a few feet away, Ryoma could hear the distant buzz of his i-pod and so he felt comfortable continuing with what he felt he needed to say to Tezuka.

"We'll talk about it when you're ready, I guess."

"Thank you," Tezuka said, voice small and distant. Ryoma frowned and held the phone closer to his ear – perhaps this wasn't the best time to tell him that he was planning Atobe's seduction.

"Buchou," he murmured, tone reminiscent of a time – of a relationship – long past. "I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I, uh…I'm at Atobe's."

The silence that stretched between them was such that Ryoma wondered if the connection hadn't dropped. "Tezuka?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Tezuka asked, hesitant and almost wary.

"Because I'm gonna bring him to Fuji's on Sunday."

That he hadn't yet bothered to inform Atobe that he intended them to go to Fuji's together was unimportant. He'd jump off that bridge when he came to it.

Tezuka was silent again for a few moments. "Is there some significance to your telling me this, Ryoma?"

"Yes," Ryoma said. "If it bothers you, I'll stop. Before the significance starts to mean anything to me."

"You intend for it to matter, then?" Tezuka asked, appreciating the ability to mince words.

"Yes," he said again. "Honestly, I think it'd be good for the both of you." And then he hesitated, telling himself that it wasn't fear that made his stomach clench. "Unless…"

"No," Tezuka was quick to deny. "Atobe and I are over. That's behind us, now."

"Are you sure?" Ryoma asked, dreading the response he might get. Tezuka took great offense to being second-guessed, particularly by his kouhai.

"Quite," he said, voice deceptively mild.

Ryoma grinned. "You know he was my second choice, right?"

Tezuka laughed, nearly inaudible, but Ryoma caught it all the same. "Goodbye, Ryoma. I'll see you on Sunday."

"Save us a seat," he said, just before Tezuka hung up. For several moments after, Ryoma sat where he was, staring at the blinking numbers. He'd done it. Whether or not he managed to work things out to his specifications, he'd taken the most important step: telling Tezuka that he'd set his sights on Atobe Keigo. It felt good. It felt weird. It felt _scary_.

But Atobe was worth it. Ryoma had long ago determined that he would be and though he'd suffered a temporary setback when Keigo had tossed his heart – and his pride and effort and several bouquets of roses and other embarrassing, sissy gifts – in Tezuka's direction, Ryoma felt certain that the ball was finally, _finally_ in his court.

He smiled; the only thing he loved better than applicable tennis metaphors was victory – and he intended to have that, also.

"Echizen," Atobe said, obviously surprised to find Ryoma sitting in his kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

Turning to face Atobe, Ryoma offered him a wide, welcoming smile. "Well, hello, Master Keigo. Welcome home – may I fetch your evening brandy?"

Frowning, Atobe set his briefcase down and tugged at his tie, even as he couldn't seem to decide where to look first: the pastries or Ryoma. "I haven't even had dinner, yet. Don't quit your day job."

Ryoma leaned on the counter, still smiling. "Like you could afford me, anyway."

"So?" Atobe gazed at him dispassionately. "What _are_ you doing here?"

Ryoma stood, preparing to tug on the bill of his cap when he remembered he wasn't wearing one. "I was bored. Thought I'd come and have dinner with you." He looked Atobe over – head to toe – admiring the fine fit of his suit and the way the steely shade made his eyes look like silver. "You don't want me here?"

Shrugging lightly, Atobe accepted the bottle of water Kabaji offered him and it was only after he'd taken a long, slow drink that he regarded Ryoma again. His lips were shiny and his eyes were narrowed in concentration. Ryoma shifted, but didn't look away. Looking at Atobe made his dick hard.

"I didn't say that," Atobe eventually said, setting the bottle down on the counter. "Kabaji, I'll shower before I have dinner."

Kabaji nodded, though he still wore his earbuds. "Usu."

Glancing briefly at Ryoma, Atobe turned to go and over his shoulder, called back, "Enough for two, please."

Ryoma grinned, meeting Kabaji's eyes over the counter. "Better get used to it, Kabaji. You're gonna be seeing a whole lot of me."

Kabaji merely quirked a brow at him and turned his music on, again. It didn't matter, though, not really. Hopping off the stool, Ryoma followed in the direction Atobe had gone. He might need help getting out of the shower.

\+ + +

 

The house was still and almost eerily quiet, but for the periodic mewling of Chinen's cat. With the lights off and the house dark, though, it didn't make much noise. Chinen wasn't worried about it, in any event. His bedroom door was closed and Rin was plenty used to the cat's odd warbling; it wouldn't disturb his sleep.

The knock on his front door, while entirely unexpected, didn't startle him. He'd been awake long enough that he was as alert as he was going to get. His shift was due to start in an hour and so he'd been sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and wondering how long Rin was going to sleep. He hadn't left the bedroom in two days.

Opening the door, holding the candle away so as not to spill wax on himself, he grunted when he recognized Kai in the darkness. Without a word, he turned toward the kitchen again, leaving the door open in anticipation of Kai's company.

"Hello to you, too, Mr. Etiquette."

"He's still asleep," Chinen answered, easing into his chair again to stir still more cream into his coffee.

Kai closed the door behind him and took the necessary three steps that separated the living room from the kitchen. "Is he okay?"

Chinen shrugged, motioning toward the teakettle on the stove. Kai shook his head and took a seat. He didn't like the cheap, instant coffee that his old teammate seemed to prefer.

"Guess so. He's eating and I'm pretty sure he showered earlier."

Kai shook his head. "I hate it when he gets like this. He trying to kick again?"

Chinen was silent for a moment, sipping his coffee and considering. "There's nothing to kick. He's not even drinking. I think…," and here he trailed off, frowning.

"What? You think what?" Kai prompted.

"I think he's just fucked up in the head, you know? Like, lost and trying to find himself or something."

Kai snorted. "Pining over Kite, is more like it. Damn, I wish he'd get over it, already. Neither one of them's the marrying kind."

Chinen ducked his head and did not answer. Rin's inability to commit – to even see reason – had long been a point of contention for him, though he'd never let on. "He's trying. Give him some room."

Chinen's cat curled around Kai's ankles, yowling happily and headbutting his leg. Glancing down, Kai snickered to himself and leaned to pet its head. "Ugliest fucking cat I've ever seen, Hiroshi. Does it have all its teeth?"

"No," Chinen said, getting up to pour another cup of hot water. "Dunno what happened to her ear, either. But she doesn't bother me and I don't bother her. So it works out okay, I guess."

"Aw, shit, it drooled on me."

"Maybe she likes you," Chinen muttered, spooning too many spoonfuls of instant coffee into his cup. "Beggars can't be choosers."

Kai laughed. "Best offer I've had in weeks, to tell you the truth. I swear, some of the skanks I wake up with sometimes…"

"You're such a romantic, Yuujiroh," Rin said, sleepy-eyed and raspy in the doorway.

"Baby!" Kai exclaimed, hopping up and holding his arms open. "Come give daddy a kiss."

Rin was slow-moving, but Kai met him half-way and when they clung to one another tightly, Rin resting his head on Kai's shoulder, Chinen turned his eyes away.

Pressing a kiss to Rin's tousled hair, Kai lifted him off his feet before he let him go. "Mm, you smell nice. All sleepy and warm."

Rin laughed, shoving Kai away to lean over Chinen's shoulder and steal his coffee cup. He took a deep swallow and then set it down again, elbows resting on Chinen's shoulders.

"How can you drink that shit?" Kai asked.

"What shit? The coffee?"

"He hates my coffee," Chinen said, letting Rin drape over him however he wished. It seemed as though he didn't do it enough, these days.

"What? Are you nuts? This is the best coffee going."

Kai rolled his eyes. "Partners, always. You must really care about Hiroshi's feelings."

Rin tilted his head, leaning against Chinen. "You think I'd pretend?"

Chinen turned his head a little, the tip of his nose grazing Rin's cheek and he closed his eyes for only a moment, savoring the closeness and knowing that Rin would remain completely unaware. "He'd never pretend," he said.

"Aww, Hiroshi," Rin said, hugging Chinen's neck and biting his ear before moving away to sit next to Kai. "You know me so well."

Chinen rose slowly, after that, avoiding eye contact with Kai, who was regarding him with a shrewd expression. "I gotta head to work," he said. "You guys can stay and hang out."

'Kai, stay and take care of Rin,' was what he meant, but couldn't say, and he relaxed a little when Kai leaned back in the rickety chair to prop his feet in Rin's lap. "We'll hang out here and find something to eat. Play some Resident Evil, maybe."

"Oh, cool," Rin chimed in, sliding Chinen's cup over to help himself to what was left.

"You don't mind if we turn on a few lights, do ya, Hiro-chan?" Kai said, grinning up at Chinen.

"Don't leave 'em on all night. It's expensive."

"Yeah, yeah," Kai said, waving his words away. "Cheapskate."

Chinen didn't answer; he was used to Kai's playful teasing on the subject of his tight-fistedness where money was concerned. He didn't care – he didn't have money to waste.

"Hiroshi," Rin called, halting him in the doorway. He turned, glancing back over his shoulder and feeling only marginally comforted by Kai's oft-proclaimed heterosexuality. Rin blurred the lines – he was the kind that made straight boys question their disinterest in their own gender.

"You want us to go to the market later? I could pick up some groceries and stuff."

His hesitant tone of voice made Chinen ache with want. Rin was trying to make up for being a burden, without coming right out and saying so. As though Chinen would ever need to be compensated for taking care of him.

"No, you stay here and rest. I'll stop by the store when my shift's over."

And then he was gone. Rin sighed, rubbed his bare toes over the cat's ragged fur. It was getting fat – Rin was willing to bet that it ate better than Chinen did.

"I don't deserve him, you know," he said.

Kai laughed, turning his cap backwards and tucking his hair beneath it. It was about time for a haircut. "None of us do. But he puts up with us, anyway."

Rin smiled, turning the cup in his hands and realizing that he actually felt hungry. It was the first time in days that he had. He remembered that Chinen had offered him some soup and bread earlier and knew that he would have saved it for later when Rin had initially refused.

"I wonder if the people who see him every day know what a good guy he is."

Kai stared at him. "You know he's in love with you, right?"

Startled, Rin looked up quickly. "What?"

Shaking his head, Kai stood, scooting the chair away from him with the backs of his knees. "Dumb blonde. C'mon, let's go play. I'm bored."

Rin was slow to follow, stopping to peek inside the refrigerator first. Inside, on the top shelf, was a bowl of soup with two wrapped slices of bread perched atop it. Chinen had taped a note – a torn bit of envelope, it looked like – to the side of the bowl. Beside his almost frighteningly perfect print was a sketch of a little cat's head, missing half of one ear.

 _Rin. Eat. I mean it_.

He closed the refrigerator door again quietly, bracing one hand against it and ignoring the sudden tightening of his throat.

"Move your ass, Rin!" Kai called from Chinen's bedroom. "I don't like playing this game in the dark by myself!"

Rin trudged toward the bedroom, turning Kai's words over and over in his mind. After a moment, they ran together with the words Chinen had written on the note until none of it made sense anymore.

Except that it did, somehow.

The cat followed him into the bedroom. Rin left the lights off.


	13. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Having scrolled through all the phone numbers in his phone book – _twice_ – and finding no one to whom he actually wished to speak, Kite sighed and leaned back against the bed's headboard. Just looking at Tezuka's name, standing out like neon between Professor Tanaka and Ueshima – his crazy, drunk uncle – made Kite's stomach hurt.

He could call. He could apologize for overreacting, even though to do so would probably cause him to experience something akin to true, physical pain. He could call and simply tell Tezuka the truth: that he missed him more than he'd ever missed anyone in his whole life and all that he could think about was being next to him again.

After careful consideration, however, his previous decision remained. If Tezuka loved him, he'd have called him back. Thinking about it made him smile ruefully, despite his solitude. Love. That woman had put ideas in his head – ideas that meant nothing and would only lead to more misery than he already felt. Damn women – no matter how smart they were, they simply couldn't be trusted. Not where a man's pride was concerned, in any event.

Snapping his phone closed and tossing it on the bed, he slid down to rest his head on the pillow and he pondered his situation. And the ceiling. He was very rapidly becoming disgusted with himself for allowing something so asinine to turn him inside out the way it had. It was no big deal – he just missed the sex. The hot, sweaty, physically exhausting, mind blowing sex. His melancholy had nothing at all to do with the soft, quiet way Tezuka had of looking at him or the way the corner of his mouth turned up when he tried to mask his amusement and it _certainly_ had nothing to do with the way he looked in the morning – all tousled and shy and sleepy eyed.

Kite's stomach began to hurt again.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he retrieved his phone again and punched in the one number that he'd never need an address book to remember. It rang for several moments before the line opened and a familiar, distracted voice met his ear.

"Yes, hello, what is it?"

"Mother," Kite said, smiling at the sounds he could just make out in the background. The theme from his father's favorite television show, his mother bustling about in the kitchen, shifting pots and pans and talking over the sound of the fan, the dog's nearly incessant barking.

"Eishirou? Is that you?" she asked, swearing loudly when the phone slipped and clattered to the kitchen floor.

""Yoshi?" Kite heard his father call out – almost certainly from his threadbare recliner in their tiny family room. "You all right in there?"

"Yes, yes," she answered and Kite could tell that she'd covered the receiver with the palm of her hand – as though it were a formal phone call and she needed to maintain some modicum of telephone etiquette. "I dropped the phone, that's all."

"Oh. Fine, fine," his father returned. "Who is it?"

"Well, as soon as I get to speak to them, I'll know, Masa. Honestly."

Kite massaged his temples. As though she had so many options when it came to people who might address her as 'Mother'.

"Eishirou? Is that you, my darling?"

"Yes, Mother. It's me. Are you busy? I can call back."

"Oh, no no, of course not. I'm only tidying up after dinner. Is everything all right? Nothing's wrong, is it?"

He laughed, pulling himself up into a sitting position and shaking his head. When he didn't call, she asked if something were wrong. When he _did_ call, she asked him the same thing. "Everything's fine. I was just…" and here he faltered, brows drawn. Regardless of his age and his independent nature, he was suddenly incredibly, desperately homesick. It had been months since he'd seen his parents, since he'd rested his elbow on his father's shoulder and called him 'short stuff', since he'd hugged his mother and swung her around and made her squeal like a girl.

"What is it, aka-chan? Something's wrong, isn't it? I know it is – I saw Rin-chan with that friend of yours – I swear, I think that tall one is on drugs; he looks like he hasn't slept for days – and I just knew you two were fighting again."

Barely managing to withhold a sigh, not to mention the niggling regret that he was beginning to experience for having weakened and called his mother, of all people. She was relentless and opinionated. Kite began to think he should have called Ueshima – at least then he could have consoled himself by talking nonsense with someone who was in far worse shape than he was, himself.

"Mother, Chinen is not on drugs, I've told you that a million times. He's actually a pretty good guy, he just looks a little intimidating, that's all."

"You know who looks intimidating? Kai-kun, that's who. He looks like a thug – I bet he carries a gun."

"Mother, he doesn't carry a-"

"Who's got a gun?" his father demanded from the next room. "Who are you talking to?"

"It's Eishirou," she yelled back.

"Eishirou knows someone who carries a gun? Is _he_ carrying a gun?"

"No, no," Yoshi returned, shushing her husband and muttering under her breath. "He's so nosy. Selective hearing, too, you know."

"Yes, I know," Kite agreed tonelessly. Calling home had been a mistake. "Kai is not a thug and Chinen is not on drugs," he repeated.

"But you did have a big fight," she said, managing to sound simultaneously smug and concerned. "What happened, aka-chan?"

"Nothing happened, Mother," he began, but then he sighed. There was no going back, really – he'd already called and she wouldn't relent until she had the whole story. Or at least the pertinent facts. "All right, yes, something happened. He left."

"He'll be back," was her immediate response. Kite supposed he could understand – Rin had left and come back so many times that it had become a running joke. Except it wasn't a joke. Not anymore.

"Not this time," he said quietly. "It's over."

She sighed and Kite heard her exhale again as she lowered herself into one of the kitchen chairs – furthest away from the door so as to maintain a bit of privacy. "Oh, Eishirou. Always, always you bring heartache on yourself. I won't say that a sweet, quiet young woman would make a world of difference, because I know you won't hear it."

"Thank you," he said, dryly. "I appreciate that."

"It's only because I worry for you, Eishirou. You must know that."

He knew.

"Everyone needs love," she continued. "Love without issues or stigma or secrecy."

Kite laughed. "I haven't exactly been very secretive about it."

"Hmph. I wasn't talking about _your_ secrecy, you shameless boy."

He smiled wanly. "I miss you, Mother."

"Sweet boy. I miss you, too. Come home for a visit – even if it's just for a weekend. It certainly can't hurt matters."

"What if I said I thought I was in love? What would you say?" he asked suddenly, nearly surprising himself with the question.

She hesitated for only a moment and when she spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I would say that I think you need that. More than you've ever been able – or willing – to realize."

He smiled, then, spirits lifting for the first time in days. She was right – he _did_ need love – and the best place to get that was among the people who meant the most to him.

"It will work itself out, duckling. Come home."

Where he might have cringed at any other time, her long-used endearment – even more so than her familiar 'aka-chan' – settled his nerves. She'd never led him astray, never in all his life.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll call you when I'm on my way."

"That's my boy," she said, satisfied and happy for having turned things around in her favor. "I'll make you good things to eat and room for you to relax and clear your head."

"Thank you," he said. "I love you."

"I loved you first," she teased. "Goodbye for now, Eishirou."

"'bye, Mother."

Pensive, but somewhat buoyant, he hung up the phone. Perhaps he'd stay longer than a weekend. He realized that he didn't want to plan, didn't want to think ahead. He was going to go home and try to forget that he'd ever set eyes on Tezuka Kunimitsu - whether he loved him or not.

\+ + +

Oishi met him at the station. Happy and chatty and full of good news and positive thoughts. He made Tezuka feel exhausted by comparison.

"Eiji and I are thrilled that you were able to make the trip, Tezuka. There are all sorts of things we can do before the party – the art museum just opened up their Byzantine Empire display and I've been dying to see it."

Tezuka didn't respond right away and Oishi did not seem unnecessarily bothered by it. "Also, I've been painting again and I think I'm really getting back into the feel of my art. Perhaps someday we'll be going to see my exhibit, eh?"

Tezuka nodded, though it wasn't talk of museums and art that had taken his attention. Oishi was fishing keys out of his pocket and unlocking a car's doors by remote. The headlights flashed, Tezuka blinked in surprise, and Oishi went right on talking.

"In any event, I'm completely open to whatever plans you might have. It seems like so long since we've had you over!"

"Oishi," Tezuka murmured, hefting his bag. "You bought a car?"

"What? Oh, yes, the car. Eiji says the payments are just us spending our dividends, but it's really a bit more costly than that."

Oishi laughed, opened the door for Tezuka before hurrying around to the driver's side. The car was red with white racing stripes – Tezuka would have been willing to bet that Oishi had not chosen this particular automobile.

Fastening his seatbelt, he turned to glance at Oishi's profile – so fine and serious in concentration – and tucked his bag between his feet. "I didn't know you bothered with the market. You and Eiji must be doing well."

Oishi strapped himself in snugly and began to make his way out of the parking deck. He was cautious and courteous to other drivers; Tezuka began to feel a bit more settled for finding that some things never seemed to change.

"We're doing all right. The stock market is Eiji's new hobby and while I try to be supportive as much as I can, I'm always worrying that we're going to lose everything we have."

He looked at Tezuka then – brief, solemn. "He takes unnecessary risks. You know how Eiji is."

Tezuka smiled. "Indeed."

Those unnecessary risks that Eiji took were responsible for the majority of their shared happiness, but Oishi knew that well enough without needing Tezuka to remind him. Eiji took risks and Oishi wrung his hands over them – such was their way. Somehow, it had worked out for them and Tezuka had never begrudged them one second of their happy, normal life together. Not even when his had been falling apart.

Tezuka's stomach growled, silently, and Oishi spoke up – right on cue. "You must be hungry, Tezuka. Eiji was preparing dinner when I left; things should be ready soon."

Touching his belly self-consciously – had Oishi somehow managed to _hear_ that? – Tezuka smiled a little. "How did you get him into the kitchen?"

"Hmph," Oishi began, meandering along the road toward their apartment. "I just told him it wouldn't kill him to prepare dinner once in a while. I think I got my point across rather effectively, if you ask me."

Tezuka didn't respond, remembering the few times he'd witnessed one of Eiji and Oishi's fights. Eiji became sullen and petty and uncommunicative while Oishi grew flustered and emotional. It made him feel uncomfortable – like watching his parents fight.

"I feel like I've been talking the whole time, Tezuka!" Oishi said, risking a small smile in Tezuka's direction without taking his eyes off the road ahead. "How have you been? You've been so distant lately."

Distant lately. Not keeping in touch with Oishi because he'd been so busy spending time with Kite. He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the window and repressed the sigh that seemed to build in his chest. Oishi hadn't said a single thing about Tezuka's love life – or lack thereof – and already Kite was on his mind.

But then, Kite was _always_ on his mind.

"You know how it is, Oishi. Day after day, nothing really changes."

"That's not true," Oishi immediately replied. "Especially not for you, when you have your own space and your own life and so much potential to have a successful, happy future."

 _You should be happy_ , is what Tezuka heard and Oishi didn't say. And as much as those unspoken words bothered him, Tezuka knew that they were true.

"Oishi?" he asked, watching his friend when he turned his windshield wipers on. It was getting chilly out, now, and the evening rain would be cold when he stepped out into it. It was a suitable thought to have as he stalled for time in an effort to put off the questions he desperately wanted to ask.

"Hm?"

"Do you ever wish you'd done things differently?"

There was silence between them and while it certainly felt awkward to Tezuka, he knew that Oishi was merely trying to concentrate on the road and still maintain the conversation.

"Differently, how?"

Tezuka hunched his shoulders and watched the cars pass by his window. Oishi drove like an old woman. He wanted to have this conversation without actually taking part in it, just to spare himself the embarrassment, but he rationalized that if it were _that_ unbearable, he'd never have posed that first question.

"What if you hadn't…ended up with Eiji? Do you ever wonder?"

Oishi laughed. "Sometimes. And he does, too, sometimes."

"He's told you that? Isn't that rather insulting?"

"Not at all," Oishi assured him. "There are no secrets between us – there's no room for them."

Tezuka looked away, guilty. "No secrets," he repeated.

"You have to understand, Tezuka. As frustrating and as trying as it can be to have to share your life and your thoughts and your heart in so constant a manner, what comes of doing so far outweighs any temporary selfishness either of us might feel."

Ducking his head, Tezuka realized that his cheeks were warm and his chest hurt. He'd been afraid that Oishi might say exactly what he'd said and – by doing so – prove that Tezuka had been stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

"I'd never tell anyone this but you," Oishi said, a little bashful. "But love – true, real love – is not just passing time. I'm far, far better with Eiji than I'd ever be on my own. What I lack, I find in him."

Tezuka was silent, Oishi's words ringing in his ears while he told himself that the condensation on the window was humidity from the rain and heat inside the car and not the tightening of his throat and his upset stomach that further hinted at his tears.

"That's what I always hoped you'd find, Tezuka." Oishi went on softly. "Man, woman, whomever. I don't care what people like Atobe and Mukahi say; love is the most important thing in all the world. If you have it, you're luckier than most."

Slipping off his glasses to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, Tezuka sniffed and finally took a deep, strengthening breath. He sat up straight and felt Oishi's fingertips briefly tentative at his elbow. For all that Oishi knew Tezuka didn't welcome physical affection, he couldn't help himself, sometimes and Tezuka forgave him for that. Loved him for that.

"I'm here if you need to talk about it," Oishi said, eyes on the road again while Tezuka put his glasses back on. "And if you don't, then I won't say a word."

"I know," Tezuka told him, leaning back in the seat to let the warm air inside the car envelop him. His stomach growled again, louder this time, and they both laughed a little. The moment had passed, and Oishi was pulling to a stop in front of their apartment building.

"Good timing on my part, right?" he asked, offering Tezuka an encouraging smile.

"The best," Tezuka agreed. "As always," he added, seriously.

Oishi smiled, looking away to wipe his own eyes and Tezuka's throat tightened again. He wasn't, however, going to sit in Eiji's sports car and cry with Oishi about love that lasted and love that didn't. The whole conversation was quite maudlin enough and Tezuka knew that Oishi could go on this way all night long.

"Well!" Oishi said brightly, reaching behind them for an umbrella. "Sit tight, Tezuka-san, and I'll come around to fetch you out."

The street, the sidewalks, were already slick with rain and as careful as they were on the stairs, it was quite slippery there, too.

"Careful with the railing, Tezuka. I got a splinter last week."

Oishi shook off water like a dog when he stepped into the foyer and Tezuka shivered, slipping off his wet jacket and shoes. There were no slippers by the door and he frowned. He was going to get his socks wet.

"Eiji!" Oishi called. "We're back!"

Before Eiji could respond, Mukahi Gakuto appeared in the archway – two pairs of slippers dangling from his fingertips. "I'll alert the media," he said, smirking at the both of them.

"Gakuto? What are you doing here?" Oishi asked, untying his shoes and hopping over to the carpeted area where Gakuto stood. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Wipe that horrified look off your face, Oishi. No, I'm _not_."

At Oishi's questioning expression, Mukahi went on. "Eiji burned dinner again. I was just leaving work so I brought you plebes something to chow on." Pausing only for a second, Mukahi winked at Tezuka. "Heya, Tezuka-kun. Long time, no see."

"Mukahi-kun," Tezuka responded politely.

"Thanks, Gakuto," Oishi said, clearly pleased. "Are you sure you won't stay?"

It was clear to Tezuka that Oishi didn't really want Mukahi there at the moment, but obligation was ever Oishi's biggest setback.

"Nah, thanks, though. Me and Yuushi are going out." He waggled his eyebrows at Tezuka. "Got a couple of skirts lined up for later, you know?"

Eiji leaned in the doorway, grinning lazily. "Yeah? You gonna make Yuushi wear 'em both, Gakkun? Or do you like to get all dolled up, too?"

Mukahi stuck his tongue out at Eiji and Oishi laughed as he took the slippers from Mukahi's fingertips. He must be used to this, though Tezuka couldn't recall him ever mentioning a friendship with Mukahi Gakuto of all people.

"You wish, _Eiko_." Mukahi said, even as he tilted his head to allow Eiji to smack his cheek with a little kiss. "Don't drink all the wine, either, you sot."

Laughing, Eiji took the other slippers from Mukahi and handed them to Tezuka. "Whatever," he said, nudging Mukahi toward the door. "Thanks for saving my ass."

"Again," Mukahi added, patting Oishi on the back as he passed. At the door he paused, his expression unreadable.

"Good to see you again, Tezuka," he said, and then he was gone. When the door closed behind him, Tezuka frowned. He'd never been able to discern the difference between Mukahi's teasing and his seriousness. He'd witnessed his cruelty on more than occasion and it had always made him remember that things were different with those boys who'd grown up at Hyoutei. They were sharper around the edges, had more to lose, more to hide. Back then they'd been out of Tezuka's league, socially, and he suspected that they still were. It didn't bother him. He didn't fit and he wasn't Hyoutei. It was good that he could admit it without feeling inferior or that it was the reason things didn't work out between himself and Atobe.

"Tezuka!" Eiji said, grabbing him in a big hug. "You missed my cooking, didn't you? Say you did."

Wrinkling his nose, Tezuka returned Eiji's hug with an awkward pat on the back and met Oishi's happy, dark eyes over his partner's shoulder. Oishi rarely hugged him this way because he knew that Tezuka didn't care for it. But then, they didn't need to embrace when Oishi could convey so much in a single glance.

"Fine. I missed your cooking. Now let go."

Eiji laughed and turned back toward the kitchen. "Liar. But don't worry. Gakkun's menu selections are much, much better than mine. At least you'll get to eat good, this one time. Right Oishi?"

Motioning Tezuka on ahead of himself, Oishi smiled big. "Yes, Eiji."

Tezuka sighed, but this time, it was borne of an odd sort of contentment. This place, these people, felt like family. They reminded Tezuka that there were many different kinds of love to be had in the world and while they couldn't fill the space that Kite occupied, Tezuka knew that he was still luckier than most.

\+ + +

"'m not drunk." Atobe slurred, sliding against the wall when Ryoma tried to heft him upright. He grunted, redoubling his efforts as Atobe attempted to slither along the wall like the snake he often was.

"You'll do until the drunks show up," he said, gripping Atobe's waist. "And good _fuck_ , but you're heavy."

Snickering, Atobe hooked an arm around Ryoma's neck and pressed his damp mouth to Ryoma's neck. "You're not as short as you used t' be," he mumbled. "And it's all muscle."

"Damned right, it's all muscle," Ryoma said, hand sliding over Atobe's hip. "It's not easy to stay in such excellent shape, you know."

"Pfft," Atobe blew against Ryoma's neck. "Was talking about _me_ , not _you_."

"You need to stop drinking, Keigo," Ryoma told him, jaw tightening when he hauled him up the final few steps. "You're gonna get fat."

"Stop telling me that," Atobe said, pulling at Ryoma's shirt and baring his shoulder when he tried to lean against the wall again. "Why am I so sleepy?"

"Well," Ryoma began. "You worked all day and sat up late talking with me and stuffing your face. And then you drank a bottle and a half of that nasty shit you call fine wine and now you're trashed and pathetic."

"I hate you," Atobe groaned, attempting to push Ryoma away even as he continued to cling to his shirt.

Ryoma snickered, bending to heft Atobe over his shoulder and toss him onto the bed. "Nobody knows what a big baby you really are, do they? Except me."

Immediately rolling to one side, faced away from Ryoma, Atobe groaned into his pillow and ignored the indignity that was his when Ryoma began removing his shoes. "Shut up," he said, though his words were muffled and he doubted that Ryoma could even make out what he'd said. Atobe didn't care – _he_ knew he'd said them and that was all that mattered.

Climbing onto the bed, Ryoma straddled Atobe's legs and rolled him to his back again. He leaned over him, went to work on the buttons of his shirt. "I shouldn't have kept filling your glass, I guess. I just wanted you to relax, that's all."

Atobe turned his head, baring his neck, and said nothing while he allowed Ryoma to undress him. "I just want to _be_ something to you, Keigo. I want you to look at me and not be reminded of Tezuka."

It was easy for him to say these things, when Atobe was drunk and less likely to remember it tomorrow, but Ryoma didn't quite operate under those same circumstances. Whether it was the heat of the moment or something he'd planned for weeks, his actions were always true and his actions were never subject to regret. Once upon a time, he'd thought that those traits were what Atobe found most interesting about him. But maybe he'd only been babysitting as a favor to the boy he _really_ wanted to seduce. It pissed Ryoma off, just thinking about it.

"…just want to humiliate me," Atobe was saying, face turned toward the pillow. "Tennis, Tezuka, _Life_. You only want to get the better of me. You always have."

Ryoma stopped then, pushing away from Atobe's chest to sit up in irritation. Atobe wouldn't look at him and with his shirt open the way it was now, Ryoma could watch his chest rise and fall with every breath he took.

"God, but you're an asshole," he murmured. "Why do I want you so much?"

Slowly, Atobe turned his head, rolled his eyes Ryoma's way and gazed up at him. His eyes were dark and shiny and a little dazed. But they were gorgeous. Ryoma shook his head, braced his hands on Atobe's hips and laughed silently at himself.

"What's so funny?" Atobe asked suspiciously.

"You," Ryoma said. "For years I suspected that your head was just too far up your own ass for you to see what's real and what's not. I thought your own self-importance was what made you let Tezuka go, but I think I was wrong. You're really clueless, Keigo, aren't you?"

Atobe blinked, lips parted as though preparing to speak, and Ryoma laughed again.

"You are. You're absolutely, fucking clueless."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Atobe demanded, voice low and tired. "You don't even…"

Leaning over him, Ryoma covered his mouth with the palm of one hand. "Shut up," he said. "Shut up and listen to me."

Atobe grew still and, suspicious though he continued to appear, he didn't struggle or otherwise attempt to break free.

"This has nothing to do with tennis. Or Tezuka. Or anything, are you gettin' me?"

Swallowing, Atobe nodded. He licked his lips and, in so doing, licked the palm of Ryoma's hand and the tension between them thickened, grew hot. Noticeable.

"Remember how you chased him, Keigo? How you wanted him? How you didn't care who figured it out?" He didn't take his hand away, didn't give Atobe the chance to answer. "That's how I want you, dumbass. It's how I've wanted you since I was old enough to realize I _could_."

Closer still, until the tip of his nose nearly grazed Atobe's, Ryoma slowly slid his hand away and despite his own desire to touch Atobe's hair, his face, that soft skin at his neck, he didn't. Palm flat on Atobe's pillow, he merely continued to lean over him, to stare into his eyes. "Stop treating me like a kid and stop ignoring me."

His eyes, hard and glittering, did not look away and when Atobe parted his lips this time, Ryoma braced for the reprimand or the refusal that he was certain would be his.

"I wasn't," was all that he said, sounding lost and confused and completely blindsided – none of which Ryoma felt he should have been experiencing. "Echizen-"

"Don't," Ryoma insisted. _Don't tell me no, don't make excuses._ "Just…stop calling me 'Echizen'."

It wasn't what he'd intended to say, but he figured he'd worry about that later. He tilted his head and Atobe's breath was warm and sweet against his face and he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"If you don't want me to kiss you, you should say something right now," he murmured, marveling at the color and the depth of Atobe's eyes. He was beautiful. Beautiful and troublesome and high-maintenance and hard to get along with. But he was going to be Ryoma's and that was all that mattered.

"What," Atobe breathed, "would you suggest that I say?"

Slowly, unbelievably, Ryoma slid one hand under Atobe's neck to curve there possessively. It felt like he'd been doing it forever and no girl's neck had ever been so perfect a fit.

"It doesn't matter," Ryoma said against his lips. "I'm gonna do it, anyway."

And then he did. And they were. And Ryoma wasn't stopping.

He kissed Atobe slowly – not at all the way he imagined he would whenever he'd thought about this moment – and Atobe responded in kind. Soon enough, Atobe's arms were wound about Ryoma's neck and he had one thigh between Ryoma's legs and they were sucking at one another's lips and moving together like they'd done it a hundred times before.

Fingers tangled in Atobe's hair while bracing himself on Atobe's pillow with his other hand, Ryoma pulled back to kiss Atobe's jaw, his neck – to nibble on his earlobe. Atobe arched his back, slipping one hand into the back of Ryoma's jeans and he pressed his face to the curve of Ryoma's neck when Ryoma's grunt of satisfaction vibrated against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. Ryoma rubbed against him, slow and purposeful – and then he did it again.

"Ahh," Atobe breathed, clutching him close and hooking one leg around Ryoma's until they were locked tight and writhing against one another's thighs. "Echizen," Atobe managed, eyes closed when he pressed tentative kisses to Ryoma's neck.

Tightening his fingers in Atobe's hair, Ryoma tugged his head back and bumped Atobe's chin with his own. His breath was hot and his lips were swollen and Ryoma wondered if he'd be too much of a bastard for seducing Atobe when he was too complacent to really object.

"I told you to stop calling me Echizen. You've forgotten what it's like to be real. You're going to be real with _me_."

Staring up him, lips slack and expression dreamy, Atobe tilted his hips in acquiescence when Ryoma reached between them to free the clasp of his pants. Popping the buttons of his own jeans, Ryoma breathed hot against Atobe's lips when he rubbed his dick against Atobe's – tight cotton over fine, thin silk.

Atobe closed his eyes and Ryoma took his mouth again, tonguing him deep when Atobe gripped his ass.

"Ryoma," he murmured, gasping when Ryoma licked the shell of his ear and then scraped his teeth against Atobe's neck.

Breathing heavy, Ryoma shoved his briefs to mid-thigh and slipped his hand into Atobe's underwear to wrap his fingers around his cock.

" _Ahh, Ryomaaaa_ ," he groaned and Ryoma buried his face in the curve of his neck. He stroked him quick and bit his neck and he didn't care that he was rubbing his dick against his own arm because it just felt too good. But then Atobe tensed, so taut that he trembled, and when his breath hitched, he hissed, " _Coming…_ "

And Ryoma was gone.

There was so much heat between them, so much moisture, and Ryoma didn't care that he was sprawled over Atobe with his pants hanging off his ass. He never wanted to move again.

He kissed Atobe's neck, sweet and salty and damp and – as lazy as he felt in that moment – something rose high and proud within him. It was just like their game, just like their rivalry. Except this time, they were somehow on the same side of the net. And it _still_ wasn't about tennis.

"Keigo," he murmured, rubbing Atobe's belly and smiling against his skin when his fingertips slid in the path of Atobe's release.

Atobe shivered and didn't attempt to dislodge Ryoma. "Mm?" he responded, mere moments away from a deep, satisfying sleep.

Ryoma stripped off Atobe's disheveled clothing, almost tender when he rolled him under the heavy blankets. How anybody could look so fine with jizz all over his belly and his hair like a bird's nest was beyond Ryoma. But he wasn’t going to complain.

"Come with me to Fuji's party on Sunday. Okay?"

Atobe yawned, turning to wrap his arms around the pillow Ryoma had shoved out of the way when he'd been working so hard to get into Atobe's pants. "Mmhmm."

"Good," Ryoma said, flopping onto his back and stretching his arms over his head. "It's a date, then."

When Atobe didn't answer, Ryoma glanced over, touched his shoulder lightly before sliding his palm across Atobe's back. "No backing out, either, Princess."

For long moments he lay there, content to listen to the sound of Atobe's breathing in the darkness. He didn't touch him again, didn't want to disturb him. Invariably, he found his thoughts turning to Tezuka and he wondered – again – what had transpired between him and Kite.

He glanced at the clock – it was almost eleven – and told himself that only drunks and old women went to bed this early. Kite was neither. It was safe to hazard a call.

Rolling off the bed, Ryoma grimaced when he straightened his pants, buttoned them up again. He knew he should have brought an overnight bag but, regardless, he was staying the night.

Downstairs, he swiped his cell off the kitchen counter and flipped it open to find the number he wanted. He grinned, congratulated himself on his foresight, and selected A. Eishirou from the list.

A. Eishirou. Sneaky bastard had probably programmed that number into Tezuka's phone himself – dicking with his name so that his would show up above everyone else's.

It rang four times before Kite picked up.

"Do you know what time it is?" Kite asked, sounding churlish and very much like the humorless shithead he was.

"Jocks can tell time, you know. All that business about us being stupid is just a myth."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Kite said. "What do you want?"

_Well, I finally got into Atobe Keigo's pretty silk undies and I'm feeling charitable._

"Just wondered why you were hanging out in banana land while your lover is shacked up with Mr. and Mrs. Kikumaru, that's all."

"Look," Kite began heatedly, "He doesn't want me, get it? It took me awhile, but _I_ get it. So, if you called to give me shit, save yourself the trouble. I'm already miserable enough."

Ryoma snorted. "Idiot. Don't you know him at all? Are you gonna let him get away just like that? Like he's not worth fighting for?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you think his relationships never work out, huh? I mean, sure he's standoffish and private and can be stubborn and self-righteous when he wants to be, but you gotta know he's only that way because it's the best protection he's got."

"He doesn't need protection from me," was Kite's immediate answer.

"So show him that. Don't tell him, _show_ him."

"I tried to show him," Kite said. "But he's not interested."

"Listen to me – you get your ass on a train or a plane or whatever method of travel makes you happier and you go fix whatever it is you let him screw up."

"Have you talked to him?" Kite asked, wondering if Tezuka regretted what had happened between them. "Did he say anything about me?"

Ryoma rolled his eyes, adjusted himself through his jeans – he really needed to clean up. "It wasn't what he said, really. It was what he _didn't_ say. This is just a friendly little tip, Kite: you'd better not let him go to that party alone."

"Atobe," Kite said, voice practically a growl.

Ryoma was delighted – Kite was such a caveman. "Don't you worry about Atobe. You worry about you. And Tezuka."

Kite sighed. "I don't know if he cares enough to bother."

"Do _you_?" Ryoma asked candidly.

"Of course I do," Kite said, completely without hesitation, and Ryoma smiled in the dim light of Atobe's kitchen. Perhaps the man could be taught, after all.

"Then go prove it," Ryoma said. "He's with Oishi and Eiji. They're listed under Kikumaru – get to it."

"Wait," Kite said urgently. "What's the address?"

"Che, I called you, didn't I? You want me to hold your hand, too? Quit being a pussy."

Kite was still sputtering when Ryoma ended the call, but Ryoma congratulated himself for his act of good will toward someone less fortunate than himself. He turned off his phone, tossed it on the counter and stretched languidly. It was getting kind of late, but he still had a job to do before he would allow himself to crawl into bed with Keigo.

Opening the cabinet where Atobe kept the hard stuff, Ryoma linked his fingers and flexed them leisurely. He'd let him keep his prissy wines, but the liquor had to go.

Atobe would thank him one day. Ryoma was certain of it.


	14. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

He'd dreamed – all night, it seemed – that he was out at sea. It had never become clear as to whether he was actually on a boat or not, but as he came awake in the early hours of the morning, Rin felt certain he'd been bobbing in and out of the waves without benefit of preservation or protection. Somehow, though, he was sure he'd remained dry even as he continued to drift endlessly, aimlessly.

Rolling to one side without bothering to push his heavy, tangled hair out of his eyes, Rin snuggled closer to Kai to fling one arm over his waist. Already it was warm outside, but the cheap air conditioning unit that Chinen kept in the window blew frigid air directly over the bed. Burrowing under the blanket and closer still to Kai's warmth, Rin muffled a yawn against his friend's shoulder and allowed his troubled thoughts to pick up directly where they'd faded away the night before.

_You know he's in love with you, right?_

Over and over in an endless litany until Rin was simply unable to stay awake any longer. Leaving Kai to his zombie-killing, Rin had crawled onto the futon and passed out before his head had even hit the pillow. Right up until he'd closed his eyes, though, it was Kai's voice – Kai's words – round and round in his mind until Rin had begun to feel sick from it.

_…love with you, right? Love._

He hadn't known. And when Kai wrapped both arms around him and nosed against his neck sleepily, Rin held him too, wondering if he was the only one who didn't know. It made sense, now that he took the time to think about their relationship without allowing Kite's presence to shadow what should have been so, so obvious.

He shifted, restless and wide-awake at an almost unspeakable hour; he'd never risen before the sun – not even during his school days. Kai mumbled something that Rin couldn't understand and when he tried to brush the hair out of his eyes, Kai groaned in protest and turned to face away from him.

"…be still, Rinrin. 's early."

Watching him for a moment or two, Rin tucked the blankets up around his friend's shoulders before easing out of the bed. He was quiet across the floor and careful when he closed the bathroom door behind him. He yawned again, bleary-eyed when he lifted the toilet seat and shifted his boxer shorts. Through the tiny window situated over the toilet, he could see how sparse the grass was and he wondered how offended Chinen's father would be if he could see the state of his son's lawn. It occurred to Rin that he could stick around a while. He could help fix up the lawn, keep the house stocked with food and take care of Chinen's ugly cat. He could create a place for himself with someone who cared about him. Perhaps he'd find a real home after searching for so long.

Tucking himself back into his baggy shorts, he drifted over to the small mirror that hung lopsided over the sink and he reached to straighten it. When he glanced up to meet his own eyes in the mirror, he didn't look away quickly as he might have at one time. His hair was a mess and he needed to gain a little weight, but he didn't think he looked half bad. He'd definitely looked worse and, rumpled though he was, he didn't have dark circles under his eyes and it didn't make him physically sick to look at himself.

He used Chinen's brush, smoothing his hair until it fell in soft waves across his shoulders and, satisfied that he looked half-way decent, he brushed his teeth quickly before slipping back into the bedroom. Kai slept soundly, buried under blankets that Chinen had been using since he was about ten years old. The sheets were an odd train/plane print with red and yellow stripes that Rin could remember, even now, staring at late into the night when he'd stayed over at Chinen's house and had been unable to sleep as easily as Chinen had.

Kai didn't budge when Rin eased the door open and closed it behind him again. It occurred to him that Kai could probably sleep anywhere and he wondered, idly, just how long he'd sat up playing video games while Rin had drifted in and out of unsettling, cryptic dreams.

In an instant, the cat was upon him, purring hard and rubbing his head against Rin's ankles. He knelt, smiling when the cat stood on her hind legs to dive at Rin's hand.

"You and me, cat," he said, scratching behind her mangled ear. "Just a couple of strays he picked up."

The cat meowed, front paws on Rin's knee like a dog, and Rin grimaced when she turned her head and drooled on his arm.

"You gotta stop doing that, cat. That's just gross."

The front door swung open then and Rin stood quickly, startling the cat and sending her scuttling under the armchair in the living room. Nudging the door open wider with the toe of his boot, Chinen filled the doorway – laden with plastic grocery bags.

"Rin," he said, clearly surprised to see him awake so early. "It's barely six – what are you doing up?"

Shrugging, Rin moved toward the kitchen table, eager to busy himself with sorting the groceries that Chinen set there. Anything to occupy himself, really – he felt uneasy, now.

"I guess I'd had enough sleep."

Glancing once in the direction of his tiny bedroom, Chinen frowned. "Where's Kai?"

"In there," Rin said, tilting his head toward the bedroom. "He was up later than me."

They fell silent and went to work – Rin emptying the bags while Chinen put things away – and Rin licked his lips, feeling strangely nervous.

"Give me just a second and I'll get breakfast going," Chinen said, rooting around in a top cabinet and stacking cans one atop the other according to label. Rin watched him, smiling to himself while he watched. Chinen was neat and orderly and liked everything just so. It was one more thing they didn't have in common.

"No way," he objected. "You just worked all night. I'll get it."

"Yeah, but you-"

"I what?" Rin interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding Chinen with unmistakable challenge. "I'm tougher than this, Hiroshi. I'm not going to break."

Coloring faintly, Chinen turned back to his cans and packages of noodles. "I know you won't. I just want to…"

He trailed off, voice fading, and Rin heard him sigh – soft and resigned. Moving closer, Rin took in the sight of his friend, so tall and strong and steady, and cursed himself again for being so incredibly blind. Unsure of both himself and his actions, Rin took the few steps that separated them and pressed the palms of his hands to Chinen's back. He could feel Chinen's muscles tighten, heard his breath catch when he grew still.

"I know you do," Rin said, voice so soft that he wondered if Chinen heard him.

He could feel his friend's warmth beneath his thin shirt, could trace his ribs if he'd so desired, and the sudden rush of affection – of closeness – that he experienced had him pressing that much closer to Chinen's back.

"Hiroshi," he murmured. "Why do you do all this for me? Why do you think I deserve it?"

"Because you do," was Chinen's immediate answer.

"You're the only one who thinks so," Rin said, leaning his forehead against Chinen's back and slipping his arms around his waist. That Chinen didn't move a muscle – didn't seek to reciprocate his embrace – wasn't out of the ordinary. Chinen's affection had always been the unspoken sort and Rin was comfortable with that aspect of his personality.

"Funny, huh?" he asked distantly, too focused on Chinen's solidity to second-guess his own actions. When Chinen didn't answer, Rin slid his hands up to rest at his friend's shoulders. "You've been right here all the time. And I've been looking everywhere else."

Chinen swallowed, then. Rin heard it.

"Hiroshi," he said, turning Chinen to face him when it had become apparent that he wouldn't do so on his own. "You never said a word. You never made a move."

Chinen's voice, when he spoke, was rough, strained – as though he held back. "It wasn't my move to make. You trusted me."

Even as he shook his head to indicate his confusion, Rin knew that Chinen's assertion made sense on some level. They were friends – had always been friends – and Chinen was too noble by far to test the bonds of their relationship by changing the dynamic. Chinen did as he always seemed to: he _settled_.

"You could have said something. You could have pushed."

Chinen shook his head once. "That's your way. It's not mine."

Searching his expression for any hint of restraint or distaste or change of heart, Rin curled his fingers in the loose fabric of Chinen's shirt and rose on tiptoes in an attempt to meet his eyes evenly. Though he only just missed the mark, the significance seemed diminished when Chinen finally looked at him. _Really_ looked at him.

He'd intended to speak – intended to pursue the conversation, somehow, even when he had no idea as to what he might say – but surprised the both of them instead when he tugged Chinen down to press their mouths together in a sudden, completely unexpected kiss.

It made his head spin, that Chinen didn't touch him but yet didn't pull away. That his lips were warm and soft and his tongue tasted like ginger candy and that Rin could easily imagine wrapping his arms and legs around Chinen. He didn't wonder why he'd never considered it before because he already knew. His mind had been elsewhere. His heart had been with Kite and all the while, Chinen had waited in the wings – silent and patient and sure of himself despite his loneliness. This kiss wasn't reminiscent of need or desire or desperation and when Rin pulled back to gaze up at Chinen, he realized that it bothered him. Bothered him that Chinen didn't ache as _he_ ached.

"You don't want me?" Rin asked, ready to recoil if Chinen's answer was something other than what he needed to hear. "But I thought…"

To his incredible surprise, Chinen touched him – just the backs of his fingers against Rin's temple – and smiled faintly. "I don't want anyone else," he said, calm and matter-of-fact.

Wrapping long arms around Rin, pulling him to his tiptoes again to get as close as possible, Chinen was warm and reassuring and gave away nothing of himself when he pressed his lips to Rin's hair.

"You don't want _me_ ," he said, and there was no censure in his words. "You want _somebody_."

He held Rin tighter to silence him when he felt the intake of breath, the coming protest. "I'll wait for you," he murmured. "For when it's right."

Rin shook his head, confusion warring with determination and pride and his absolute inability to accept even so gentle a refusal as this one.

Chinen laughed and Rin realized, absently, that it had been a long time since he'd heard him make that sound. When Chinen rubbed his back and held him close, Rin exhaled slowly.

"You don't love me, yet," Chinen told him evenly.

It was the most Rin could remember hearing Chinen speak in ages. And just as it occurred to him that Chinen wasn't letting go, Rin smiled against the front of his thin shirt. It wasn't a refusal at all. It was a challenge.

 

\+ + +

Leaning back against the counter while he watched Oishi move restlessly around the kitchen, Kikumaru wondered if he should mention the fact that Oishi's socks didn't match. After a few moments, he opted against it – Oishi was already beside himself – the oddest things could send him into an emotional tailspin when he was anxious like this.

Oishi paused, casting Kikumaru an expectant look. "What was I doing, again?"

"Looking for the saffron," he reminded him calmly.

"Oh, right, right," Oishi nodded, opening the small cabinet that housed his wide array of spices. "Are you sure you don't mind having dinner here tonight?"

Kikumaru shrugged. "Nope. Tezuka doesn't look too festive, anyway. We're probably better off staying home where we can distract him with alcohol without spending a fortune at the bar."

"You're right," Oishi agreed, pouring himself another glass of wine. "And remind me not to offer him the Blush. He always gets a terrible headache if he drinks anything but white wine."

Smiling fondly at his lover, Kikumaru sucked hard on the straw of his juice box and simply enjoyed the view. Oishi was such a darling. "Yeah. Gives him an awful hangover."

"Tezuka doesn't get hungover," Oishi protested, as though the very idea of Tezuka Kunimitsu succumbing to the lure of alcohol to such a degree that he would wake up with a hangover was simply unheard of.

Rolling his eyes when Oishi turned back to his spice perusal, Kikumaru set the empty juice box on the counter and stretched idly. "So what's the deal, anyway? Old Buchou certainly has been sad-faced and pitiful all day."

Oishi sighed heavily, though he didn't turn around. "I know – it's just awful. I felt certain that he would confide in me by now, but he still hasn't said a word."

"Atobe?" Kikumaru suggested helpfully, dearly hoping for some good gossip, even as he felt a little bad for Tezuka's somber mood. Not that he seemed any different than any of the other times he visited, but Kikumaru knew better than to say so to Oishi.

"No," Oishi was quick to respond. "No, that's all over. This is something else entirely."

He turned around, then, sneaking a little glance in the direction of the bathroom to make certain that Tezuka would not overhear their conversation. "I think he's met someone else, Eiji."

Perking right up, Kikumaru's eyes widened and he leaned toward Oishi, as though to encourage his confidence. "Really? Did he say something?"

Oishi shook his head. "No. But all the signs are there. He's moping and secretive and he keeps spacing out and sighing." Oishi sighed, just recalling it. "I wish he'd confide in me."

He sounded so forlorn and so helpless when he spoke that Kikumaru was quick to close the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around Oishi's chest to rest his cheek against the back of his neck, he squeezed him reassuringly. "Oh, Oishi. You shouldn't take it personally. You know how Tezuka is."

Oishi nodded and Kikumaru dropped tiny kisses behind his ear, nuzzling and tickling and laughing when Oishi shivered and laughed, too.

"I suppose you're right," he said, turning his head to accept a kiss. "I just need to be patient."

Rubbing the tip of his nose against Oishi's, Kikumaru smiled. "Right. After all, it's not your fault that Tezuka's got a two by four wedged directly in his ass."

At Oishi's immediate frown of disapproval, Kikumaru laughed again and smacked a loud kiss against his lips. "I love you," he said, happily.

"Your breath smells like apples," was all that Oishi said, grunting his surprise when Kikumaru swatted his behind and moved away to steal one of the cookies Oishi had set out earlier.

"I'll go drag Tezuka out of the bath. I'm hungry," he said.

"Eiji! Don't go in there – he'll come out when he's done!" Oishi called out, but Kikumaru didn't answer. He was already walking away. While he didn't give chase, certain that Kikumaru merely wanted to lure him into the bedroom for a quick feel and had no real intention of encroaching upon Tezuka's privacy, Oishi couldn't help fretting just a little. One of Oishi's biggest fears was that Tezuka or Kikumaru would one day decide that they simply didn't like one another and he did whatever possible to make their atmosphere a pleasant one.

But he was practically dying to know what it was that Tezuka wasn't telling him and though he'd never admit it, he hoped that Kikumaru might be able to somehow get him to open up about it. Because Oishi's subtle hints didn't seem to be working _at all_. All day long – through the grocery shopping and the trip to the park and Oishi's stop off at the pet shop to see the puppies – Tezuka had been irritatingly tight-lipped about whatever it was that weighed so heavily on his mind.

From the back of the apartment, he could hear Kikumaru's playful, singsong voice teasing Tezuka through the bathroom door.

"Kuni- _chaaaaan_. Come out, come out wherever you aaaare!"

He couldn't hear Tezuka's response, but the sound of Kikumaru's laughter echoing down the hallway brought a smile to Oishi's face. Worry though he might, Kikumaru could always lighten his mood, put him at his ease. Oishi hoped that he could do the same for Tezuka.

Wiping his hands on the towel hanging over the sink, Oishi cocked his head, listening. Someone had knocked tentatively at the door and while Kikumaru's laughter had obscured the sound at first, the second knock was louder, stronger.

"Eiji, could you get the-"

But then the phone rang and Kikumaru called out, "I'll get it, Oishi!"

Sighing, Oishi set his pan aside and moved toward the front door. Gakuto had a bad habit of turning up unannounced and Oishi fervently hoped that this wouldn't be the case tonight; he wanted a bit of privacy and relaxation for the three of them tonight. He wasn't going to get another opportunity – the party was tomorrow and then Tezuka would probably spend a couple of days with his parents.

He opened the door, blinking up at the oddly familiar man standing on his welcome mat. Remembering his manners with a sudden rush of embarrassment, Oishi stopped staring and found his voice. "Can I help you?"

Appearing uncomfortable and perhaps even a bit uncertain, the man nudged his glasses up with the tip of one finger. "Er…Oishi-san?"

He glanced to the right of the door, as though to confirm that he was, in fact, in the right place. "This is the Kikumaru residence?"

Suddenly apprehensive, Oishi smoothed down the front of his apron and attempted a welcoming smile. "I am and – yes - it is. Are you an…acquaintance of Eiji's?"

Frowning, the man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His discomfiture was apparent for only a moment before he narrowed his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. "No. I'm Kite Eishirou. I'm here for Tezuka."

Nearly blushing when he said it, though he didn't avert his eyes, Kite Eishirou squared his shoulders. "Is he here?"

Oishi blinked once, twice, his lips parted to answer, to say _something_. This man – this Kite Eishirou whom Oishi recalled with a sudden, startling clarity – was somehow even more overwhelming now than he'd been the last time Oishi had laid eyes on him. He was taller, sharper, more handsome than Oishi remembered.

He blushed, too, stepping back graciously. "Yes, please, come in. Forgive my rudeness."

Smiling in what seemed a reprieve from an unmistakable anxiety, Kite rubbed the back of his neck. "No, the rudeness is mine. I apologize for the intrusion." He paused, glancing around as he stepped inside to allow Oishi to close the door behind him. "I wasn't certain that he'd take my call, or I'd have called first."

And so Tezuka's secret was revealed at last and it had nothing at all to do with Atobe Keigo, as Oishi had suspected all along. He had not, however, anticipated Kite Eishirou.

"Oishi!" Kikumaru called out, then. "Your sister is on the phone; she wants to talk to you."

"Coming, coming," Oishi responded, and then he turned to Kite. "This way, Kite-san."

Heading their way – meeting Oishi halfway – Kikumaru stopped in his tracks to gape at Kite.

"What's _he_ doing here?" he demanded, revealing that his memory was superior to Oishi's own, as was his tendency to hold a grudge.

Oishi took the phone from Kikumaru, shooting him a warning glare that Kikumaru pretended not to see. "He's here to see Tezuka. Can you go and let him know that Kite is here?"

"Pfft," Kikumaru snorted. "You told me not to go in there, remember?"

"Eiji, please," Oishi said, pressing the phone against his chest in an attempt to conceal their conversation. He didn't like arguing with Kikumaru in front of his sister – she made jokes about the two of them turning into Oishi's parents.

Offering Kite a sickly smile, Oishi motioned toward Kikumaru. "Eiji will get him for you."

Oishi disappeared into the kitchen and Kikumaru crossed his arms over his chest, sweeping Kite with an assessing glance. "Well, well. What have we here?"

Expression unchanged, Kite regarded him evenly. "Should I be flattered that you seem to remember me so well?"

Kikumaru snorted. "Hardly. So you're the reason Tezuka's moping around and worrying Oishi. I'm not surprised."

Tilting his head, Kite slipped his hands into his pockets casually. "That's not very hospitable of you, Kikumaru-kun. In fact, it's rather childish to hold a grudge against someone you haven't seen since middle school."

Stiffening with indignation, Kikumaru curled his lip and pointed at Kite. "Don't you try that calm, smarmy business with me, Kite. This is _my_ house and Tezuka is _my_ guest and Oishi is _my_ man and if you think I'm going to let you come in here and get everybody all worked up, you've…"

But Kite wasn't listening. Instead, he was staring over Kikumaru's shoulder with the dopiest expression Kikumaru had ever seen. And Tezuka's voice was nothing more than a whisper – like dry wind over dead leaves – and Kikumaru's stomach began to hurt a little.

"Eishirou. What are you…?"

Kite bit his lip, brows drawn. He swallowed hard and took a step toward Tezuka.

"I needed to see you," he said. "I…"

Kikumaru watched Tezuka, took in his sudden alertness, the way his eyes lit up, the small step he took in Kite's direction. It was positively _nauseating_.

"You came all this way?" Tezuka asked.

It was obvious to Kikumaru that Kite's presence was the very last thing that Tezuka had expected. Now, he only needed to work out whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Oishi would be no help at all – this entire reunion would appeal to his romantic side, no matter that it was giving Kikumaru the creeps.

"Did you think I'd let you go?" Kite asked, voice low, intimate.

Kikumaru pretended to be completely unaffected.

Tezuka didn't answer and when Oishi returned to nudge Kikumaru's arm in silent suggestion that he move aside, Kite braced one hand on the wall and stepped forward once more. He was careful, hesitant, but there was no ignoring his intensity.

Smiling brightly, Oishi rested one hand at Kikumaru's elbow and pretended not to notice Tezuka's embarrassment at having anyone – even his closest friend - witness this very personal exchange.

"So! Should I set another place at the table?" Oishi asked, though he was looking at Tezuka when he spoke.

The heat – the energy – between Kite and Tezuka was practically a tangible thing. And when Tezuka nodded without turning his eyes away from Kite, Oishi tugged Kikumaru toward the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, then."

Kikumaru looked over his shoulder as Oishi dragged him away and just before his view of their guests was eclipsed, he watched Kite slide his hand along the wall and reach for Tezuka. There was no trace of deceit in his voice when he spoke and, instead, Kikumaru was forced to acknowledge his obvious sincerity when his fingertips grazed Tezuka's and he whispered, "Forgive me. _Kunimitsu_ …”


	15. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Staring up at him, unsure as to what he should offer Kite in response, Tezuka did not object when Kite's fingers slipped between his own. There was no denying the relief and the happiness and the hope that he felt, however, and when he closed his fingers around Kite's, he stepped closer, too. He realized that he didn't need to prepare any words because they were already there at the tip of his tongue.

"You shouldn't ask," he told Kite, lowering his gaze and resting one hand at Kite's chest.

"Shouldn't I?" Kite returned, covering Tezuka's hand with his own. "It was stupid of me. It was childish – I shouldn't have left that way."

But Tezuka was already shaking his head. "No. I shouldn't have run you off."

Ducking his head, Kite nuzzled at Tezuka's cheek and Tezuka held him closely, suppressing a shiver of emotion he wasn't certain he could conceal very much longer.

"Is that what you were doing?" he asked softly. "Trying to run me off?"

"I don't know," Tezuka answered honestly. "I don't know what I was doing. Don't know what I'm doing _now_ , if you want the truth."

"The truth is all that I can ask for. Even if you tell me to go, my time wasn't wasted."

With a low, hollow laugh, Tezuka bunched a handful of Kite's shirt in his fist and didn't look up again. "Is that all you want, then? The truth?"

"No," was Kite's immediate answer. When he tipped Tezuka's chin up to meet his eyes, his confusion was clear in the way his brows drew together. "I just want you. I thought I'd made that clear before now."

Staring up at him, Tezuka noticed the way Kite's bangs fell over his forehead. He looked disheveled and rumpled – like he'd been traveling for days without benefit of sleep. He felt guilty and regretful, knowing that he was the cause of Kite's obvious state, but beneath it all, he felt cherished, wanted.

Reaching up, he brushed Kite's hair aside, nearly lost his breath when Kite tilted his head into Tezuka's caress, when he closed his eyes and smiled his happiness. Like that day, when Kite had cornered him in the bookshop to offer him a single, simple rose, Tezuka's chest ached and his thoughts were a muddle. He'd suspected it before, but he knew it now. _Knew_ that he loved Kite. With the realization of his own feelings came the certainty that he could trust Kite. It was overwhelming, humbling, and he wrapped both arms around the man who cared enough for him to follow him when he ran away to hide. No one else had ever taken the time to do it. No one else had ever quite _dared_. But Kite did.

His breath was warm against Tezuka's neck, his arms snug and strong and safe. "I want to touch you," he whispered, kissing Tezuka's neck and holding him tight when he shivered. "More than this."

"I want it, too," Tezuka said, rubbing his mouth against Kite's ear to whisper to him. This moment was private and while he knew Oishi and Kikumaru would respect this privacy, it was difficult for Tezuka to relax.

With one last squeeze, Kite relaxed his embrace and pulled back to look at Tezuka. "Later, then. When I've proved my worth to your friends."

Immediate denial at the ready, Tezuka shook his head. "No, it's not necessary. It's-"

Kite grinned, tracing the line of Tezuka's cheekbone with the edge of his thumb. "That's what you think. Their memories of me are quite vivid, I assure you, and unflattering besides."

Frowning, Tezuka shook his head again, but Kite only said, "Give me this chance, Tezuka. Let me fight for you, hm?"

Blushing faintly – for no one had ever made such a bold, romantic sort of declaration to him before – Tezuka continued to look directly into his eyes when he spoke. "I won't stop you, then."

At Kite's slow, confident smile, Tezuka grasped his wrist. "But…you're calling me Tezuka again."

Kite tilted his head, the light caught his glasses and Tezuka felt his belly tighten. He wondered how he could have ever found Kite anything less than ridiculously, overpoweringly sexy.

"The next time I say your name, Tezuka, it will only be me and you. And it'll be all I have to say." He smiled when Tezuka swallowed, when his cheeks flushed with color and he squeezed his lover's hand reassuringly. "Do you think Red will get mad if I use the bathroom? I'd like to make myself presentable for dinner."

Tezuka didn't tell him he was presentable enough to _be_ dinner, as that would be crass and just this side of inappropriate. Instead, he cleared his throat and took firm hold of his dignity and restraint. "Certainly not. It's down the hallway and to the left. I'll be waiting in the kitchen for you."

Kite grinned, already edging around Tezuka. "Don't start without me," he said.

Tezuka promised that he wouldn't, without saying a single word.

Kikumaru set the table and Oishi followed behind, straightening the napkins and the dishes that Kikumaru placed there haphazardly.

"I can't believe this. Kite Eishirou. Okinawa trash."

"Eiji!" Oishi hissed, glancing toward the doorway to make certain that neither Kite nor Tezuka had overheard. "I can't believe you just _said_ that."

Frowning, Kikumaru looked away. He hadn't meant it and felt bad for casting aspersions on an entire island just because one of its inhabitants was a backwoods hoodlum. It made him angry at Kite all over again for making him sink so low.

"He's not good enough for Tezuka," was all that he would say.

"I think we should leave that up to Tezuka," Oishi said in his and-that's-the-end-of-it tone of voice.

"Yeah?" Kikumaru challenged, clearly in the mood for an argument. "Maybe that's because you think he's dreamy, too, eh, Oishi?"

Rolling his eyes Kikumaru's way, Oishi planted both hands on his hips and regarded him mildly. "What? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? Well, I'm not _Yakuza_. Maybe that's what's wrong with me, as far as you're concerned."

Oishi turned around. "I'm not listening to this," he said, walking away from the table and toward the counter. "You're being ridiculous."

"And Tezuka's being played," Kikumaru said, determined to get the last word. Honestly, he couldn't have said why he was so against the whole situation, but he remembered Kite from back in the day and none of his memories were good ones. Higa had been ruthless and completely without scruples. That mattered to Kikumaru – a leopard never changed its spots. He didn't want to say that, though, because Oishi would make fun of him later for having lost his temper and said something so stupid. Who even said things like that anymore? "How can you stand by and let your best friend get his heart broken and his pride trampled?"

Oishi turned to face Kikumaru and, infuriatingly enough, his expression was mild and completely bereft of any trace of anger or irritation. "Because it's not my business, Eiji."

When Kikumaru's expression didn't change and he seemed completely undeterred, Oishi went on. "Did you see his face? When Kite got close to him?"

Very nearly pouting, Kikumaru didn't answer. He had seen Tezuka's face. Had, in fact, watched everything about him change, shift, lean toward Kite as though he were Tezuka's every source of happiness. Kikumaru merely doubted its validity.

"Eiji," Oishi said, voice soft now. "I've never seen him look like that. Not ever."

Frowning still, Kikumaru crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to be bothered by Oishi's entreating tone of voice, the soft look in his eyes. It pissed him off and though he knew he was being unreasonable and petty, couldn't resist getting that last word.

"And maybe you wish you had. Firsthand."

Immediately sorry, but far too stubborn and worked up to call his words back, Kikumaru watched Oishi pale and then flush with what he knew was a fine, pure anger. He waited for Oishi's retort – for some withering, parting shot that Kikumaru actually wished for, if only in the interests of evening the score – but it never came.

Turning his back, shoulders stiff and spine rigid, Oishi walked away from Kikumaru without a single word and it was pride alone that kept Kikumaru from calling him back.

Tezuka joined them, then, stepping into the kitchen looking more than a little bashful, though – thankfully – he didn't mention the atmosphere or his role in creating it.

"I apologize," he murmured. "This is unexpected and I don't want to intrude. Kite and I can stay someplace else tonight and I'll just see you tomorrow, Oishi."

That he spoke to Oishi and not to Kikumaru was indication enough that he'd heard his friends' exchange. He didn't look at Kikumaru. "It wasn't my intention to involve either of you in my personal business."

Touching Tezuka's arm hesitantly, Oishi looked miserable. "Tezuka, I'm so sorry about that. I hope Kite-san didn't…"

Shaking his head once, Tezuka was quick to assure Oishi. "No, he's in the bathroom, getting cleaned up."

Kikumaru didn't miss Tezuka's bitter inflection and he leaned against the wall, feeling mean and spiteful and guilty. It wasn't Tezuka's fault he had awful taste in men. Though his awful taste in men was, ultimately, to Kikumaru's benefit since if he'd had better taste he'd have probably snapped Oishi up ages ago. Now, at the very least, Kikumaru didn't feel at all as though he deserved him. But he couldn't say those things, not with Tezuka there to overhear.

"Please, Tezuka," he spoke up suddenly, ignoring the way Oishi glared at him. "Stay for dinner, stay the night."

After a moment, during which Oishi and Tezuka stood huddled together like a couple of wounded animals, Kikumaru scuffed his slipper on the floor.

"Both of you," he added.

Tezuka's veiled look was more than ample indication that he hadn't forgotten the terrible things that Kikumaru had said and that he intended to give him the opportunity to eat his words.

Kikumaru watched Oishi rest a reassuring hand on Tezuka's shoulder and crowd him in an effort to lend him support. He imagined that Oishi would groom him with his tongue if such a thing were acceptable in polite company.

"He's not what you think," Tezuka finally said, sounding as though it physically pained him to have to offer some justification for his feelings toward Kite.

"You don't have to explain," Oishi was quick to assure him, even as Kikumaru felt he certainly _did_ have to explain. Atobe was bad enough, with his overblown charm and suspect motives, but Kite was…Kite was a poorly educated, rule-breaking hick.

"Maybe not, but you and Kikumaru are my friends and I feel as though I should reassure you that I wouldn't become emotionally involved with anyone whom I felt was unfit to stay in your home."

"Tezuka, please," Oishi said, blushing faintly and gripping his arm gently. "If you like him, _we'll_ like him. And that's all."

Ducking his head to hide the look on his face, Tezuka allowed Oishi all his needy touching. It seemed to reassure him, somehow. "I do," he finally said. "He's good to me," he added, looking directly at Kikumaru when he said it.

"If he's so good to you, then why were you fighting?" Eiji couldn't help asking. "It had to be pretty bad to send you running to us."

Expression darkening, Tezuka was getting quite close to losing the tenuous hold on his temper. "I wasn't running from him, if you must know." He didn't add that it had been himself he'd been running from; some things were too private to discuss, even with one's friends.

Kikumaru fell silent, too accustomed to that particular tone of voice to issue further challenge. He'd overstepped his boundaries and he knew it. Knew it as surely as he knew that Oishi would make him pay for his slight in one manner or another after all of this had blown over. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Tezuka. I just…remember what he was like. That's all."

Tezuka nodded his understanding. He'd had trouble shaking off those same memories at first and had almost allowed his own preconceptions to cloud his judgment. "Please, let's just forget it."

Oishi smiled then, squeezing Tezuka's shoulder and finally releasing him. "I'm looking forward to getting to know him."

Kikumaru frowned, falling into step behind his lover and his friend. That's what he was afraid of – Kite was far, far too magnetic.

They knelt at the formal table just as Kite entered the room, scrubbed and clean with sleek hair and casual attire. His first smile was for Tezuka, who welcomed him by scooting over a bit, and then he bowed his head to Kikumaru and Oishi as he knelt beside Tezuka.

"I apologize for barging in so late. My flight was delayed."

"Please, Kite-san, there's no need to apologize. Tezuka is glad to have you and so Eiji and I are glad to have you. I hope that you'll be comfortable here tonight."

Kite smiled his appreciation and gazed longingly at the dishes of food set out for them. He hadn't eaten since very early that morning and was only now realizing how hungry he was. During the flight and the ride over, afterwards, his stomach had been in knots over a possible confrontation with Tezuka. Now, however, he was beginning to relax and imagined that he might be able to eat everyone else's dinner in addition to his own.

"Thank you. Please don't feel as though you need to be so formal. 'Kite' is fine."

Kikumaru frowned. Kite, _indeed_. Such pretty manners when the occasion called.

"I take it you'll be joining us tomorrow, then, Kite?" Oishi asked innocently, immediately embarrassed when Kite appeared hesitant. "Oh…perhaps I…"

"Of course he'll join us," Tezuka spoke up quietly. "He came all this way."

Turning his head just enough to glance at Tezuka, Kite murmured, "That's not why I came. But I'm happy to accompany you if you truly want me there."

Tezuka blushed. Oishi blushed. Kikumaru scowled and turned his attention to the dishes before him. At this rate, dinner would get cold, Oishi would melt into a simpering pile of goo and Kite and Tezuka would start making out right in front of them before they even got through the entrée.

Grateful for the distraction, Oishi followed suit. "Well, let's eat!"

Kite bowed his head. "Thank you."

"So you must live near Tezuka now, Kite," Oishi said. "Isn't it a small world?"

"Yes, actually. We ran into each other one day in a coffee shop; I had no idea that he was attending school so close by."

"Are you taking any classes, Kite?" Kikumaru asked, certain that he was working in a dirty garage as a cover for his illegal, underground activities.

"Wrapping it up for the semester, actually. It's funny – just a couple of days ago I was planning to fast-track my schedule so that I could start my residency early." He paused here, glancing again in Tezuka's direction. "But after speaking to a friend, I realized that I needed to slow down a little and make time for things that mattered more."

Chewing silently, Tezuka's neck and ears reddened, though Kikumaru doubted his blush had anything to do with embarrassment. _Shameful_.

"Residency?" he repeated, unable to hide his surprise.

"Yes," Kite confirmed. "I'm just finishing my first year of Med school."

"Really?" Oishi asked, clearly interested and pleasantly surprised. "What are you specializing in, if you don't mind me asking?"

Risking a glance at Kite before turning his attention to his dinner again, Kikumaru entertained all manner of uncharitable thoughts. He was probably in gynecological studies, training to be an abortionist or a molester of women. Kikumaru could easily see him in the role of harasser.

"Microbiology. As much as practicing medicine fascinates me, I'd rather be in the lab than in an exam room."

Oishi, if it were even possible, seemed even more starstruck than before. Kikumaru could nearly see the little hearts floating around his head to the tune of sweet, sweet birdsong.

"Fascinating," he said. "That's quite impressive, Kite. Your parents must be proud."

Kite shrugged a little. "My mother's still upset that I ride a motorcycle. She says respectable doctors don't openly tear around the city on a bike."

Oishi laughed, pouring himself a glass of wine. "And what do you say to that, I wonder?"

"Well," Kite began, nodding when Oishi motioned to his own glass. "I just remind her that most respectable doctors don't sleep with men, either, and she usually changes the subject."

Kikumaru choked on his noodles and Oishi patted his back absently. Tezuka appeared unaffected.

"I've never been much for convention," Kite added.

Resting his chin on the heel of his hand, Oishi gazed across the table at Kite and smiled his approval, dinner all but forgotten. "I remember that much about you," he said. He held up his wine glass, then. "Toast with me, Kite. Because we'll need to be festive to start this new friendship."

Kite lifted his glass and when Tezuka's knee rested against his own, he smiled down at him without bothering to conceal his adoration. "To friendship?"

Tezuka lifted his wineglass, though he didn't say a word, and Kikumaru watched in disbelief – his own glass was still empty – as Oishi tilted his head and spoke again.

"No. No, not this time. This time, we'll toast to love. Because you never know where you're going to find it."

"To love, then," Kite said, touching his glass first to Oishi's and then to Tezuka's.

"To love," Tezuka murmured, the long look he exchanged with Kite deep and dark with silent meaning.

Elbow braced on the table, Kite offered his glass to Kikumaru and leveled him a serious look. "Kikumaru? Won't you toast with us?"

Kite was confident and he was determined, but there was no trace of mockery, no smugness in his words and when Kikumaru glanced first at Tezuka's expectant look and then at Oishi's dark, _gorgeous_ , sincere one, he knew when he was outnumbered.

"Oh, what the hell," he said, lifting the wine bottle and clinking the neck against the delicate rim of Kite's glass. "To love."

Tipping the bottle up, he drank deep, knowing that soon enough he'd be just as loose as he needed to be to tolerate the suffocating amount of testosterone Kite's mere presence seemed to afford.

Turning to Oishi, his toast to him much more than an afterthought, he grinned and leaned in close. "Because love means never having to say you're sorry."

Lips parted, preparing to offer some sort of response, Oishi's eyes widened, his surprise muffled against Kikumaru's lips when he pressed a hot, possessive sort of kiss to his lips, effectively silencing whatever he might have intended to say.

When he pulled away, mischievous little grin firmly in place, Oishi blinked owlishly at him, blushing and flustered and gazing back with those wide, pretty eyes and Kikumaru thought he just might be tempted to do it again.

Tezuka bowed his head, teeth creasing his bottom lip in an effort to stifle his amusement at Oishi's expense, though Kite didn't bother holding back.

Leaning over, he refilled Oishi's glass, laughing softly when he met Kikumaru's satisfied gaze.

"I didn't know dinner would be this exciting, Kikumaru."

Oishi gulped his wine – inebriation made any embarrassment go away – and Kikumaru rose to fetch another bottle. "Pfft, this is nothing. Wait until breakfast. Things'll _really_ be awkward, then."

When Oishi looked at him quickly, Kikumaru waggled his eyebrows and struck what he thought was a very debonair pose. "Ne, Oishi?"

\+ + +

They finished off three bottles of wine between them before Oishi began to get droopy and the long day began catching up with Kite. He rose to help Kikumaru clear the dishes away while Oishi and Tezuka maintained small talk at the table.

There wasn't much in the way of leftovers and so Kite rinsed dishes in silence while Kikumaru stacked the dishwasher.

"Kikumaru-kun," he said, finally when Kikumaru closed the dishwasher's door.

"Mm?" he answered, mellow and relaxed and ready to drag Oishi to bed to remind him what a Casanova he _really_ was. He was, in fact, already imagining how things would go – Oishi so sleepy and clingy and wanting sex even as he admonished Kikumaru for attempting to be frisky when there were guests on the other side of the wall.

"You and Oishi are doing pretty well. Nice apartment, snazzy car parked outside."

"Yeah, so?" Kikumaru said. "You'll be rolling in it soon enough, _Doctor_."

Kite shrugged, leaning against the counter and crossing his ankles casually. His thin track pants pulled tight against his thighs and his biceps tensed when he crossed his arms. Kikumaru, the wine making him feel just flush enough, swept him with an appraising glance. He'd have been willing to bet that _this_ one made Tezuka chew on his pillow the way Atobe never had.

"At the risk of overstepping my bounds here, I'd like to ask you a question. Just between friends, of course."

"Sure," Kikumaru agreed, wondering if Oishi thought Kite had a better ass than he did. He'd be furious, if that were indeed the case, but then he wondered if Oishi would be mad that Kikumaru were wondering what kind of underwear Kite wore.

"Are you Yakuza?"

Kikumaru looked up, then, his careful study of Kite's indiscernible panty line forgotten. "What? _Me_? You want to know if _I'm_ Yakuza!?"

Kite giggled, then, raking a hand through his hair and yawning. He was a little buzzed and couldn't resist having some fun with Kikumaru.

"Good night, Kikumaru Eiji," he finally said, ruffling Kikumaru's hair before ambling back toward the dining table.

Kikumaru stood near the sink – gaping in disbelief – as he watched Kite offer Tezuka a hand and help him to his feet. They spoke quietly to Oishi, who nodded at whatever they were saying and then Tezuka ushered Kite off toward the guest bedroom, one hand possessive at the small of Kite's back.

The bastard had gotten the last word _and_ made off with Tezuka without so much as a how-do-you-do.

Kikumaru blinked. Surely Tezuka wasn't topping Kite Eishirou – it was just… _wrong_. To be completely honest, Tezuka's certain bottom status is what Kikumaru always thought had kept him from hooking up with Oishi all those years ago. Everyone knew that two bottoms didn't make a top. Or…something.

Grimacing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and found himself unable to suppress his own yawn. When did he get so tired?

"Eiji?" Oishi said, voice sleepy and tentative. "Are you ready for bed?"

Smirking at his lover as he crossed the floor toward him, Kikumaru reached for him to pull him close. Oishi stumbled, leaning against Kikumaru and resting both hands at his hips. "I've _been_ ready."

"You have?" Oishi asked. "Since when? You could have said something if you were tired."

Sliding one hand beneath Oishi's shirt to rub his back and edge the tips of his fingers just beneath the waistband of his pants, Kikumaru held his lover close to whisper in his ear. "Oh, since about eight this morning, when you were getting out of the shower."

Smiling against Kikumaru's neck, Oishi slid his hands around to squeeze his bottom, breathing a sigh of contentment when Kikumaru rubbed against him suggestively.

"You want to have sex," he said, sounding not at all averse to the idea.

"We shouldn't be the only ones in the apartment _not_ having it," Kikumaru said, nibbling at Oishi's neck and laughing when he felt his skin break out in goosebumps. "Right?"

Nudging between Kikumaru's thighs with one knee, breathless when Kikumaru gripped his buttocks possessively, Oishi closed his eyes and moaned softly.

"I couldn't agree more."

Murmuring his approval, Kikumaru twined their fingers together as Oishi nosed into his hair and whispered, "I call tops."

\+ + +

 

He'd barely had a chance to close the door behind him when Tezuka pressed his back to the wall and held him just where he was with nothing more than the power of his kiss. Long arms winding around his neck, ankles entwined, Kite moaned against Tezuka's lips and gripped his ass to haul him to his tiptoes.

"God, I thought we'd never get to this," Kite said between kisses. "It was all I could do to keep my hands off of you at the table."

In answer, Tezuka pressed tightly against him, his cock already half-hard, to let him know that talking was the last thing on his mind. "I want to fuck," he said, voice low.

"They'll hear us," Kite began, his words trailing off when Tezuka reached between them to rub his dick with the flat of his hand. "Oh _god_ , Kunimitsu…"

"No, they won't. You're quiet. I'll be quiet. I want you."

"Wait," Kite said, sucking at Tezuka's bottom lip and kneading him through his pants. "We haven't resolved anything. Shouldn't we-"

Planting both hands at the center of Kite's chest, Tezuka stepped away from him even as he pushed Kite's back to the wall again. In seconds he'd stripped away his t-shirt and the loose pajama pants he'd put on after his shower.

Kite just stared, still fully clothed while his cock tented the front of his pants, and he reached out to trail one fingertip along Tezuka's ribs. He was so lean and pale in the near-darkness of the room and he knew that – soon – his control would snap and any circumspection that was his would go flying right out of the open window at the far wall.

"You're sorry," Tezuka began. "And I'm sorry. I'm not good with words and I apologize for that. If you're willing to stick with me, I can only try to get better."

Stripping off his own shirt before settling his hands at Tezuka's narrow waist, Kite could only stare at him as though he'd never tire of the sight of him. As though he'd never get enough. "Try getting rid of me," he said, kissing Tezuka's mouth once before dropping to his knees before him.

Closing his eyes, fingers sliding easily, familiarly into Kite's hair to press close to his scalp, Tezuka bit his lip when Kite tongued his bellybutton, scraped his teeth across Tezuka's hipbone and nosed into the curls at the base of his cock when he tugged his underwear down along his thighs.

Tezuka's thighs trembled, his knees weak when Kite nuzzled the sensitive crease of his groin, his balls, his cock, and when Kite closed his lips around him to suck hard all the way to the base, Tezuka's fingers tightened in his hair and he was barely able to muffle the sound he made.

"Eishirou," he hissed, lowering his hands to the back of Kite's neck as he bowed over him. "I won't last."

"Then, don't," was all that Kite said before wrapping one hand around Tezuka's cock and pulling back to suck and lick at the tip.

It didn't take long – Tezuka trembled from the effort of bearing his own weight while Kite drove him to the limits of his control – and all too soon he was clawing at Kite's shoulders and parting his lips on a near-silent intake of breath when he came hot and slick over Kite's lips and tongue.

Looking down at Kite, Tezuka watched him lick his lips and swallow without hesitation, but it wasn't enough. Lowering himself to straddle Kite's lap, Tezuka went limp in his arms, holding tight and kissing him lazily, sucking eagerly at Kite's tongue to share in his own release.

"I've never felt like this in my life," he breathed, restless against Kite's thighs as though to suggest that he wasn't done yet and still wanted more. "Never wanted anyone this way. What have you done to me, Eishirou?" He'd asked that same question once before - he was almost certain - but if he'd received an answer then, he couldn’t recall it now.

Spreading his own thighs and reaching between Tezuka's to press fingertips to that sensitive place just behind his scrotum, Kite caught the sweet sound he made in another deep, wet kiss just as he eased his fingers up further still.

"Nothing you didn't want me to do," he answered, kissing Tezuka's jaw and sucking at his neck. "I don't want to question it anymore. I just want to have you. Always."

In answer, Tezuka kissed him, moaning when one of Kite's fingers began to push for entrance. He squirmed, his cock getting hard again and nudging against Kite's belly when he reached between them to touch him.

Kite shuddered, his muscles tightening when Tezuka touched him inside his underwear – his dick was hard and hot against Tezuka's fingertips – and he shifted to get both arms around his lover.

"You're gonna make me come; you have no idea how close I am," he warned Tezuka, jaw tight with restraint. "Come on, get on the futon."

Tezuka rose shakily, accepting Kite's hand and winding around him again when Kite walked them back toward the mat on the floor. He lowered Tezuka to all fours and hauled his hips up even as he spread his legs wide. And then he crawled backward.

"God, just like that. Don't move. I want to look at you," he said, voice thick as he stripped off his pants and underwear. The crown of his erection was wet, slippery just beneath his bellybutton and he groaned low in his throat when Tezuka pressed his shoulders to the mat and turned his head to look at Kite. His chest rose and fell with every shallow breath he took and Kite squeezed his eyes shut tight when his cock twitched to leak against his belly.

"Fuck, I'm going to come the second I get inside you," he said, not daring to touch himself for fear that he'd come even before then.

Tezuka murmured, restless and arching his back, and Kite could see his dick – fully erect now – from such a perfect angle. He looked so delicious, so mindless – so ready for it. He was reminded, almost immediately, of that first time they'd shared this and it was torture to recall how much Tezuka had wanted him and what a ride he'd been. He recalled how hard he'd come inside him and how he'd been certain that he'd never be able to fuck another man in his life without somehow craving Tezuka Kunimitsu in the very back of his subconscious. That hadn't changed and, even better, Tezuka was his, now. _All_ his.

"Put your mouth on me," Tezuka said, arms folded under him when he spread his knees just that much more and Kite licked his lips, already crawling toward him, already tasting him on his tongue.

He gripped Tezuka's bottom and spread him quick, wasting no time in bending his head to him to lick and nibble and suck even as he reached beneath him to palm his balls carefully.

Tezuka moaned into the pillow and he wasn't quiet like he'd promised he'd be. Kite's name was a guttural moan in his throat and it drove Kite on like no other response might have.

Feeling as though he would never want to stop, would never want to draw breath again, Kite kept at him until Tezuka was whimpering and barely moving. He had three fingers all the way to the second knuckle inside him and he suspected that – if he'd truly wanted to – he could have worked in a fourth.

But Tezuka wanted it and Kite was so close that a sudden breeze might have brought him off and when he pulled back, he felt as though he'd been submerged in warm water for hours: he was practically numb with arousal.

"In the drawer," Tezuka panted, feeling the cool air between his buttocks and he sucked in a breath – Kite's attentions had left him open and ready and nearly raw. Even so, it wasn't enough. "Eishirou…"

 _Please, please hurry_.

In his current state of mind, two seconds felt like two hours and by the time Kite was behind him again – making him slippery wet and fingering him slowly – Tezuka had begun to mouth the pillow in desperation.

Reaching beneath him, Tezuka stroked himself quick, unwilling to wait when Kite still had three fingers in and out of him in that careful, languid rhythm and when Kite hooked his fingers down and pressed in just that right spot with the pad of his thumb, Tezuka stiffened, mouth open against the pillow as he hung powerless in those few seconds of almost unbearable pleasure. And then he was falling – weightless and dizzy while his own pulse hammered in his ears – and his belly was sticky and wet.

Kite had rolled him over, gentle when he moved between his thighs to push inside him, and at his urging, Tezuka wound his arms around his shoulders and tried to hold on tightly when Kite got to his knees and began to ride him hard.

He bent his knees, rested his feet on Kite's thighs and turned his head away when Kite sought to press his face to the curve of his neck. There were broken whispers and soft, urgent sounds against the shell of Tezuka's ear when Kite came and even after he shuddered and collapsed atop Tezuka, still he whispered to him and still he did not move.

Tezuka knew he could blame it on the wine later, if saving face were a matter of importance to him. He knew it as surely as he knew that he _wouldn't_.

Not when Kite could cry his name so sweetly and say the words that Tezuka had always felt certain that he'd never find the courage to say, himself.

That was _then_ , though. That was before. Before Kite.

Distantly, he was aware of Kite drawing the blanket over him, taking him into the warm, comfortable circle of his embrace to kiss the back of his neck and twine their legs together.

"I won't do it again," he said, lips so hot at his neck – even now.

Tezuka scrubbed his eyes, knew he was falling asleep and knew that he couldn't do a thing to stop it. Not even when he wanted to stay awake long enough to look at Kite just one more time before the night was over. There would other nights – many, many more nights.

"Don't leave me again," he said, knowing exactly what it was that Kite was trying to say. "I won't leave you, either."

He was drifting, then, thinking that he should have risen to close the window when Kite said, "Do you hear that?"

Tezuka listened, his head swimming with all manner of dream fodder and words that Kite hadn't said that Tezuka had heard, anyway.

The faint, rhythmic knocking sound wasn't loud enough to be obvious and Tezuka wasn't sure that he wasn't imagining it. But then Kite giggled – sleepy and silly and plastered to Tezuka's back like he never intended to move again.

"Good," he said, muffling a yawn against Tezuka's shoulder.

"Mm?" Tezuka murmured. Good, his _ass_. It had been much, _much_ better than good.

The urgent rasp of Oishi's voice was only barely audible through their wall before Kite said, "We weren't the only ones."

But Tezuka was already asleep.


	16. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

The mirror in Atobe's foyer was obnoxious. If pressed, Ryoma would probably admit that it was indeed beautiful, but he didn't feel that such an admission would change the fact that was – certainly – obnoxious. And pretentious. Even so, he couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he stood before it, straightening his tie and admiring the cut of his jacket; he felt that Atobe must be rubbing off on him.

Atobe's tread was light on the stairs and he sniffed when he cleared the last step, crossing his arms over his chest and sweeping Ryoma with a critical eye.

"Hm," he finally began. "No ballcap today?"

Turning his head to peruse Atobe with a similar sort of glance, Ryoma tucked both hands in his pockets, one brow arched in question. "No poet shirt today?"

Lips quirking in an almost-smile, Atobe adjusted his cuffs and consulted his watch. "Touche." He paused, clearing his throat as though their conversation made him uncomfortable. "You look good."

Turning to face him, Ryoma offered him a slow smile. Despite the business-casual attire, he was _not_ uncomfortable. "You look edible."

The sudden rush of color to his cheeks, about which Atobe would protest with his very last breath that he certainly hadn't blushed, only served to further Ryoma's amusement. That Atobe looked far better than he did was completely inconsequential. There weren't many people Ryoma had ever met who could rival Atobe in sheer, physical beauty. A lesser man might grow to resent such vanity but, truthfully, Ryoma reveled in it. Long had Atobe's abundance of confidence intrigued him and while he sometimes teased Atobe for being a priss, the truth was that he wouldn't change a single thing about him.

He wondered if that was love. He wondered if Atobe would backhand him if he asked.

"What? You don’t agree?" he asked, all innocence.

"You’re ridiculous," he said, peering into the mirror and sweeping the pad of one finger across the mole beneath his right eye. "Is the car ready?"

Ryoma shrugged. "Guess so. Kabaji said he'd see us there."

Blinking in obvious shock, Atobe paused just before the front door. "Did he? He didn't mention anything to me about attending the party."

Opening the door and only barely resisting the urge to swat Atobe on his fine, prissy ass, Ryoma ogled him openly and hoped the driver was paying attention. "So? Does he have to clear everything with you, first?"

"Stop needling me," Atobe said. "I only meant that he could have gone with us if I'd known."

"Like hell he would," Ryoma objected, walking casually at Atobe's side – he knew how much it irritated Atobe to have to slow his steps and wait for him. "You're my date. I'm not sharing you with anybody."

Pausing at the car door, patently ignoring the driver due to Ryoma's appalling lack of decorum, Atobe pursed his lips and smoothed the front of his jacket down. "You're a Neanderthal. Like your Father."

Ryoma laughed, bowing in exaggerated politeness to the driver before sliding in after Atobe. "Careful, Keigo. Insulting my father like that – it's the way to my heart."

Lips clamped tightly, Atobe fastened his seatbelt and pretended to be interested in his BlackBerry. Ryoma, seemingly unperturbed, rested his ankle on his knee, stretched his arms out along the back of the seat and whistled off-key until Atobe frowned and slipped his daytimer back into his pocket.

Atobe might have attempted to insult him, but Ryoma felt he'd won this particular round. Atobe had not bothered to deny that this was, in fact, a date.

\+ + +

Having maintained a comfortable sort of silence on the ride over, Kite seemed content to gaze out of the window at the darkness and occasional flashing light. That he wasn't looking at Tezuka and hadn't touched him since they'd left Oishi and Eiji's apartment didn't bother Tezuka at all and when he snuck a glance at the man at his side, he couldn't repress the feeling of security that was his. They didn't need to speak; they didn't need to touch.

Kite looked over, caught Tezuka staring and appeared to grow very serious.

"What is it?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Tezuka looked away. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. But Kite was not so easily deterred. He glanced around and, satisfied that nobody was paying the two of them any attention, leaned in close. His breath was warm against Tezuka's neck.

"Well?" he murmured.

Tezuka shook his head again. "No, nothing."

Kite spoke quietly against his ear. "Can I say something to you, then?"

"Of course," Tezuka said, glancing up to see Oishi and Kikumaru across the aisle. Engrossed in the book he held, Oishi didn't notice, but Kikumaru did. He winked and Tezuka looked away again.

"Before I went looking for you, I called my mother and promised her I'd go home for a visit."

Growing very still, already imagining the lonely trip home, Tezuka curled his hands into fists against his thighs. Since he and Kite had lay down together in Oishi's guest bedroom, Tezuka had been anticipating spending time with Kite in old, familiar surroundings. Allowing his past and his present to merge, somehow.

"Oh?" he managed, attempting to appear casual. "Soon?"

Kite shrugged. "She was expecting me two days ago, actually. But I made something of a detour."

"Oh," Tezuka said. He was silent for a moment, wondering how to proceed without appearing too needy, too bothered. "You'll need to leave soon, I suppose. If your family's expecting you."

"Yes," Kite agreed. "I'd planned to go after the party."

Nodding once, Tezuka picked at the knees of his trousers. He could feel Kikumaru's eyes on them and he did not look up.

"Will you come with me?"

Tezuka glanced up, surprised. "What?"

"Come home with me," Kite said again. "I'd like you to meet my family."

When Tezuka didn't answer, Kite shrugged. His voice was low, hushed. "I'd like my family to meet you."

"But," Tezuka objected. "They're not expecting me. It would be awkward."

Kite was silent for a few moments, and he touched Tezuka's hand tentatively. When he took his hand away, cognizant of the people around them, Tezuka sighed.

"I don't think it will be awkward at all," Kite finally said. "My mother doesn't know that I'm happy. I want her to know why I am."

Looking down, again, Tezuka took in the sight of his hand so close to Kite's. The contrast of his skin – so light – in comparison to Kite's darker tone was fascinating to him in that moment. It brought to mind the few times he'd awakened next to Kite, his white sheets shocking against Kite's skin and the sudden, sharp happiness he experienced that was almost overwhelming. But then, he reasoned, so much of his relationship with Kite had been just that. Overwhelming.

"No one's ever said something like that to me before," he said.

"I'm sorry," Kite murmured. But then Tezuka glanced up and Kite smiled at him. "Okay, no I'm not."

Tezuka smiled then and touched Kite's arm only briefly. Something in the tone of his voice was nearly melancholic when he spoke again. "Are you sure about this?"

Through the small, tinny speakers, a woman's voice announced the next two stops.

"One day you won't have to ask me that," he said. "Because you'll _know_."

\+ + +

"Shuusuke?" Yumiko called, waving the small spray of baby's breath in an attempt to get his attention. "Can you help me?"

Glancing up, Fuji patted Kawamura's shoulder before edging around the side of the small serving table. "It looks wonderful, Taka-san. I predict that everyone will be so impressed with your display that the restaurant will be overrun in two days' time."

Kawamura laughed, meticulously rearranging small plates of dipping sauces. "We'll see," was all that he'd say, as Fuji told him something along those same lines whenever an opportunity to do so presented itself.

Straightening his tie as he approached Yumiko, Fuji swept the room with an appraising eye. Everything, so far, was perfect. The music playing in the background was the perfect tempo and volume and would fit the mood quite nicely. The flowers scattered around several of the rooms were beautifully arranged – he would have to thank Mizuki for his efforts afterward – and the food promised to be delicious. Fuji could only hope that the guests behaved themselves and mingled well so that a good time might be had by all.

"Having trouble?" he asked her, taking the network of small, white flowers from his sister's fingertips. "This is rather plain, isn't it, Nee-san? Where is your orchid?"

"Ah," Yumiko began, smiling a familiar, secretive smile. "Well, Hajime said that Kei-chan should wear the orchid. He said-"

"A beautiful woman needs no additional adornment to enhance her beauty. I was afraid that Koga-san would pale beside our Nee-san and so I made one small suggestion."

Glancing over his shoulder at Mizuki, Fuji arched a brow in question. _One small suggestion_. Since the moment Fuji had begun planning the party, Mizuki had threatened to steamroll over the lot of them in his efforts to prove his skill and worth as Tokyo's premier event planner. Thus far, Fuji had managed to hold both his tongue and his temper firmly in check. For Yuuta's sake as much as Yumiko's.

"And how did Kei-chan take such a suggestion?" Fuji asked, fingers light at the thin strap of his sister's dress as he worked to place the baby's breath in just the right place.

"Oh, he was thrilled," Mizuki assured them. "It's a perfect match with his shirt, you see. Yumiko-san, you'll be pleased, I'm sure."

Nodding her thanks – careful of the pin Fuji held – Yumiko smiled politely. "Thank you, Hajime. You've been such a big help the past couple of weeks."

In that moment, beneath Yumiko's favorable attention, Mizuki straightened to his full height and Fuji could just imagine the proud, beaming smile he bestowed on Yumiko. He took his time with Yumiko's flowers so as to avoid having to witness it.

"Aniki," Yuuta mumbled, tapping Fuji on the shoulder.

With both hands occupied, unsatisfied with the angle to which the flowers leaned, Fuji mumbled around the pin between his lips. "Mm?"

"You didn't invite Atobe Keigo or any of his friends, did you?"

Puzzled, Fuji pinned the flower and slipped one hand beneath Yumiko's strap so as not to poke her skin while he affixed it in place. "Why do you ask?"

"Because his limo's outside and he's taking his sweet time getting out of it and the neighbors are watching and it's embarrassing."

"Then don't go outside," Fuji told him, smiling at his sister and touching her arm affectionately when he turned toward the door.

As he walked away, he heard Mizuki speak softly to Yuuta. "Stay here with me, _Yuuta_."

Yuuta didn't answer and Fuji was only barely able to repress a shudder when he opened the door, sparing a wink in Kawamura's direction as he graciously excused the housekeeper. Blushing, Kawamura followed the housekeeper into the kitchen to help with the beverages they would soon need to set out.

In was, in fact, Atobe Keigo's car maneuvering into the alley just across the street. Fuji was only slightly amused to see him opening his own door and making his way toward the front of the car. He paused, straightening his coat and glancing toward the car and Fuji had only just assumed he must be waiting for his date when the door opened and Ryoma stepped out onto the pavement.

Closing the door behind him, he bent to knock on the passenger window and give a thumbs up to the driver before he stood to look up at the house. Raking a hand through his hair, he turned to grin at his companion when Atobe barked at him to hurry it up.

Walking just at Atobe's side, Ryoma managed to look comfortable and relaxed where Atobe did not. Fuji watched them, fascinated; he'd had no idea of this little turn of events.

He met them just in the doorway, stepping back to allow them entrance.

"Welcome," he said. "This is something of a surprise. Are the two of you carpooling?"

Atobe snorted, extending his hand to Fuji in greeting. "Why are you surprised? You invited us, didn't you?"

"Oh, indeed," Fuji said, not letting go of Atobe's hand when Ryoma leaned in to embrace him lightly. He met Atobe's gaze and offered him a serene smile when he brushed Ryoma's cheek with his own. And then he stepped back, waving them inside. "Please, come in. I'm glad you could make it."

Ryoma glanced around, spotted the sushi table and his eyes lit up. "Looks good, Fuji-senpai."

Before he could say 'thank you', Atobe smiled. "Certainly it does. I have to say, Fuji-kun, that I was anticipating receiving _your_ engagement announcement." Pausing for effect, he continued. "Where is Kawamura, anyway?"

Tilting his head, Fuji returned Atobe's smile and linked his hands before him. "Come, now. You know I'm not the marrying kind. And Kawamura's in the kitchen; as you might have guessed, it suits him very well."

Glancing once at Ryoma, sweeping him with an assessing sort of look, he asked, lightly, "How about you, Keigo? Does the kitchen suit you very well, also?"

Snickering under his breath, Ryoma looked away while Atobe struggled to form a sufficient response. But Fuji spoke up again.

"How about it, Ryoma? Which room of the house suits Keigo the best?"

"The office," Atobe said, jaw clenched. "Though I don't imagine you'd know your way around a boardroom, would you?"

Fuji shrugged. "Not particularly, no. I'm more of an outdoor sort of person, I guess you'd say." He smiled again. "Oh, I think a few more guests have arrived. Make yourselves at home; the festivities will begin soon."

Atobe watched him walk away, his jaw tight and his face flushed. "That little bastard."

Ryoma laughed and patted Atobe's back. "Relax, champ. I thought he was kind of funny."

"You would," Atobe said. "He wasn't insinuating that _you_ were a woman."

Ryoma shrugged. "He could've asked if you preferred the bedroom."

At Atobe's mutinous glare, Ryoma held up his hands in mock-surrender. "And I doubt that he'd insinuate that Taka-san is a woman."

Choosing that particular moment to emerge from the kitchen, Kawamura held two kegs of imported beer – one under each arm – and when he spotted Ryoma, he lifted his chin in greeting. They watched him go, all muscle and fitted clothing. Ryoma swallowed. "Nope. He definitely wouldn't."

They fell silent, attention garnered by the snug fit of Kawamura's trousers until he disappeared into another room. Atobe cleared his throat. "Oh, _God_."

"What?" Ryoma asked, glancing around quickly until his gaze landed on Yumiko's breasts. Full and round and threatening to spill over the edges of her delicately scalloped neckline, Ryoma surmised that she couldn't be wearing a bra since he could clearly make out her nipples beneath the bright red fabric. He lamented the fact that he'd been too young to appreciate her charms before she'd gone off to college.

Startled out of his very deep thoughts, Ryoma grunted his surprise when Atobe elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"What was that for?" he demanded, rubbing his side.

"Stop salivating. One might think you'd never seen a woman's tits before. And look, Mizuki is here. How in the hell did he manage an invitation?"

Shrugging, Ryoma glancing longingly at the sushi table again. "Well, he's got Yuuta carrying his purse, so that might explain it."

Atobe fell silent, easily able to pick out the taupe strap against Yuuta's orange sweater. "Perhaps it's his sister's."

Ryoma shook his head, reaching out to steal a carefully julienned carrot. "Doubt it. Look at it when Yuuta turns around. Looks like it's lined with purple silk."

Narrowing his eyes, watching closely when Yuuta turned to speak to his sister, he made a small noise of assent. "You're right. It's lavender. And that's not silk, it's _satin_."

"Yeah, well," Ryoma said. "Whatever." He glanced sideways at Atobe and said, as an afterthought, "Maybe you shouldn't volunteer that kind of information, huh?"

When Atobe glared at him, Ryoma offered him a carrot. "Want a bite?"

Intending to refuse, Atobe instead snatched the carrot from Ryoma's fingertips and turned his attention back to Mizuki and Yuuta. Ryoma snickered.

"Oh, shut up," Atobe told him.

\+ + +

 

To Tezuka's supreme shock and disbelief, he and Oishi had barely been able to get a word into the conversation for Kite and Kikumaru's increasingly heated, back-and-forth exchange. Having no interest in arguing world politics or the state of the economy, Oishi continued to read the book he'd brought along. Seated up front with the driver, Tezuka was free to gaze silently out the window at the scenery that was so familiar to him. Additionally, his seating arrangement made it quite easy to remove himself from Kite and Kikumaru's conversation.

"How can you say that? He's a crook!" Kikumaru exclaimed, slapping his knee for emphasis.

Unable to resist, Tezuka lowered his visor so as to surreptitiously observe Kite in the small mirror. Relaxed and almost smiling, Kite was not worked up the way Kikumaru seemed to be and it was in this way that Tezuka knew he had the upper hand in this particular debate. As the conversation had gone on, Tezuka had become increasingly convinced that Kite was only arguing for argument's sake since he had no real stake in the conversation one way or the other. Come to that, neither did Kikumaru. Tezuka surmised that, in this instance, the two of them quite deserved one another.

"Is he? What proof do you have that he's not completely trustworthy?" Kite asked, calm and interested.

"He's a politician; that's proof enough!" Kikumaru said.

Kite shrugged lightly. "Be that as it may, it has little to do with your argument. You singled him out and you can't seem to offer any factual support as to why."

"Factual?" Kikumaru repeated. "I'm only talking about my opinion."

"Yes, but you seem to think that your opinion is somehow more valid than mine. And so I imagined that you must have information that I don't."

Tezuka looked away to stifle his amusement; he felt rather sorry for Kikumaru. He was far, far too passionate and easily riled to attempt an impersonal debate with Kite.

"Okay, fine. Let's talk about the appointment scandal, then," Kikumaru said, sounding smug. Oishi nudged him with his foot even as he turned a page idly. Kikumaru ignored him and went on. "With his past, which you have to admit is a bit shady, how can you not feel that his appointment wasn't rigged?"

"Rigged by whom?" Kite asked, clearly amused. "The Diet?"

"Yes!" Kikumaru said, as though they were _finally_ getting somewhere.

"And what would be the purpose of that? How could parliament possibly hope to benefit by appointing someone the public would receive so unfavorably?"

"Well, because..." Kikumaru began hesitantly. "Because they have their own agenda, that's why! Shady bastards, the lot of them!"

Kite leaned forward a bit. "They're public officials, Kikumaru. Public, _elected_ officials. What sort of politician would risk forfeiting his reelection by appointing someone that he knows cannot possibly serve to the public's satisfaction?"

"A shady one!" Kikumaru insisted. "Perhaps there's Yakuza influence or something like that. You never know!"

Kite smiled. "Are you talking about a shake-down?"

Kikumaru smiled, too, sitting back in his seat again. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

Kite coughed and excused himself politely. "That would be a scandal, indeed," he agreed. "An executive level shake-down in so visible a manner. Why didn't I think of that?"

Smile fading, Kikumaru was on the edge of his seat in a second. "Are you mocking me?"

"Certainly not," Kite assured him, consulting his watch idly. "There's nothing more thrilling than having the underground attempt to take over the government." He paused, considering for a moment. "I'm certain I saw that in a movie once." Glancing at Oishi, he said, "Oishi-kun, help me out. Do you remember that film?"

"To honor and betray," was Oishi's immediate answer as he turned another page. "The female lead was absolutely breathtaking."

Mouth hanging open, Kikumaru glanced from Oishi to Kite to Oishi again. He caught Tezuka's eyes in the visor's mirror.

"Tezuka. What are your thoughts on today's Macro-economic trend?" he asked, voice loud with resolve and desperation.

An awkward sort of silence descended, then. Tezuka cleared his throat and Kite adjusted his tie. The driver coughed and Oishi closed his book with a resounding thump.

"Oh, we're here," he announced brightly, touching Kikumaru's knee and slipping his book into the green tote he'd brought along.

No one spoke as they got out of the car and Oishi smiled his thanks when Kite paid the driver. "I haven't seen Fuji in almost a year," he said. "Eiji, it's been a year, hasn't it?"

Kikumaru declined to answer, however, as he was already making his way up the sidewalk toward Fuji's house. Oishi frowned, expression one of decided misery, and startled when Kite squeezed his shoulder briefly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased him," he said.

To his surprise, Oishi laughed a little. "It's fine. He gets a little worked up during any sort of debate. He'll cool off soon enough."

Kite hung back, walking behind Tezuka and Oishi when they mounted the front steps and, once, Tezuka glanced over his shoulder to offer Kite the barest hint of a smile.

Fuji greeted them at the door, having already welcomed Kikumaru inside, and he smiled happily when Oishi hugged him tight.

"Oishi," he said. "What did you do to Eiji? He was talking to himself when I opened the door."

Shrugging his shoulders, Oishi glanced briefly at Kite. "We, er..."

"We were having something of a debate. I'm afraid I went a little too far," Kite said, trying hard to appear concerned.

Fuji snorted and stepped back to allow them inside. "I'll take it you won the argument, in that case."

Proud of both his modesty and the utter lack of jealousy he felt when Fuji wrapped his arms around Tezuka and even went so far as to rest his head on Tezuka's shoulder, Kite tucked both hands into his pockets and offered Fuji a disarming sort of smile. "I may have gone too far," he admitted, glancing away for only a moment when Tezuka slipped out of Fuji's embrace to enter the house with Oishi at his side.

Smiling up at him, Fuji blocked Kite's entry and held out his hand for Kite to shake. "It's been a while," he said, his grip far stronger than Kite had been anticipating. He knew, however, that he'd let Fuji Shuusuke break every bone in his hand before he'd pull away first.

"It has," Kite agreed. "I'm surprised you remember me."

Laughing softly, Fuji released Kite's hand and rested one hand at the small of his back to usher him inside. "I have an excellent memory, Kite-san," Fuji told him neutrally. "It will be good to get to know you again, ne?"

Unsure as to how he should answer, Kite opted for a polite smile and didn't seek to escape Fuji's proprietary touch.

Fuji closed the door behind them.

 


	17. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

Fuji Shuusuke _knew_ how to work a room.

After the initial greeting, requisite few moments of small talk and a not-so-thinly-veiled warning regarding Kite's role in seeing to Tezuka's emotional well-being, Fuji had patted Kite's back in a warm, familiar fashion and subsequently wandered off to charm the remainder of the room's occupants. He did it effortlessly, strolling up to a particular group or person, leaning in to exchange even the most limited pleasantries before excusing himself and moving on, seemingly unaware of the eyes that followed his every move. More than once, Kite glanced at Tezuka in order to ascertain if his fascination with Fuji Shuusuke was something they shared, but Tezuka was, almost every time he looked, engrossed in conversation with Oishi. Unable to believe that Atobe had yet to approach Tezuka, Kite attempted to prepare for the moment when he would. They'd only been there for fifteen minutes and Kite was determined to give Tezuka enough personal space that he might eventually feel comfortable standing close to Kite, answering his friends' questions about Kite. _Claiming_ Kite.

"So? Everything's peachy keen again, I see."

Kite didn't look away from Tezuka; he knew that voice well enough. "Do you now?"

"I do," Ryoma said, sipping from a juice box and perusing the room casually. "He brought you, didn't he?"

Glancing over, Kite met Ryoma's smug, bemused expression and arched a brow in question. "They wouldn't give you any wine, I see."

"Huh?"

Motioning to the juice box, Kite smirked and made a show of swirling the amber liquid in the crystal goblet he held. "Maybe they'll serve your dinner at the children's table, too."

"Oh, that," Ryoma scoffed. "I hate that shit. Tastes like cough syrup."

"Spoken like a true plebian," Kite murmured absently, sipping from his wine glass and sharing a secret little smile with Tezuka, who quickly looked away when Kite caught him staring.

Slurping noisily from the juice box, Ryoma licked his lips after and tucked one hand into his back pocket. "You know, it's been my experience that guys say stuff like that when they're trying to make up for some other _short_ coming."

"I'd forgotten you were dating Atobe Keigo," Kite said, offering Ryoma an affable smile. "I imagine he does that quite a bit."

Ryoma snickered and crumpled the juice box in his hand. "Trust me on this, Kite. Atobe doesn't have those kinds of shortcomings."

When Kite didn't answer and didn't appear to have anything further to add, Ryoma smiled at him. "Just ask Tezuka."

He watched Ryoma walk away, lips set in a thin line when the little bastard draped an arm around Tezuka's shoulders and leaned in to whisper something into his ear. Whatever he'd said made Oishi blush and the corner of Tezuka's mouth twitch in an expression of almost-amusement.

Happy to stand where he was and watch Tezuka from afar, Kite's not-so-circumspect observation was suddenly interrupted when someone bumped into him from behind. Wine sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the glass and he glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, dude," the guy said, skimming a hand over the tips of spiky hair. He grinned good-naturedly; he hadn't done it on purpose.

"Don't worry about it," Kite told him politely, raising his glass. "It all stayed put."

Opening his mouth, as though preparing to continue the conversation, the man glanced away when Echizen called out to 'Momo-senpai'. Momoshiro. Kite remembered him, now.

"Hey, Ryoma's here, I gotta bolt."

Already walking away, backwards so as to continue facing Kite, he shrugged. "Can't remember your name, man. I'll catch you later."

Nodding his infinite understanding, Kite watched Momoshiro hurry in the opposite direction, bumping into chairs and scooting sideways between crowds of people. His clothes were wrinkled and about five years out of date, but he wore them just snugly enough that anyone looking would be willing to forgive him.

Kite sipped his wine, grateful – if nothing else – for the casual acceptance he seemed to receive. Contrary to his most secret fears, not one of Tezuka's friends had sought to openly shun him and, with the exception of Echizen Ryoma, no one seemed interested in giving him a hard time or making him feel unwelcome. There was Atobe Keigo's obvious displeasure at the necessary civility he'd been expected to show, but Kite figured that had little to do with him personally and everything to do with the situation. In any event, he'd simply pretended not to notice Atobe's disinterest in speaking to him and hoped that such social discomfort was the very worst he'd be faced with that evening.

"Hello there," someone said, soft, cultured voice low beside him.

Glancing over, Kite nodded politely at the short, dark-haired man who'd managed to sidle up next to him without gaining his attention. Wavy, black hair framed a delicate, pretty face and his eyes shone bright when he smiled up at Kite. He had, hands down, the longest eyelashes Kite had ever seen on a man before. Truthfully, he'd had to take a good look simply to ascertain whether or not the newcomer was a man at all. Given the fit of his shirt and the cut of his pants, Kite felt comfortable assuming that he was, in fact, a man, despite the clinging, cloying scent of cherries that Kite caught when he moved in close.

"Hello," he returned, taking a sip of the wine and looking up to catch Tezuka watching him again. It warmed him to know that Tezuka felt it necessary to check up on him, too. Even when he seemed uninterested in taking his place by Kite's side.

"The Riesling is my favorite, too," the man said, lifting his glass to Kite. "I'm Mizuki. _Nfu_."

Kite smiled, turning to face him a bit. If he didn't know better, he'd swear this Mizuki was flirting with him. "Kite Eishirou."

Head cocked, Mizuki twirled a few curls around his fingers and licked his lips. They shimmered the palest pink under the lighting. "Yes, I know."

"You do?" Kite asked, surprised.

Mizuki nodded. "Yuuta's filled me in on the situation. I know all about you and Tezuka-kun."

"Yuuta?" Kite asked.

"Mm," Mizuki nodded again, gesturing to a tall, rough and tumble sort standing near the sushi table. He didn't look very happy and, in fact, appeared as though he might spring into action at any given second. He held a bottle of imported beer and appeared somewhat disconcerted by Mizuki's proximity to Kite. "Yuuta. _Fuji_ Yuuta."

"Ah," Kite said, understanding dawning. "The brother."

Mizuki nodded, sipping from his own glass. "That's right."

"I can't imagine what Fuji Yuuta might have told you about me."

Shrugging, Mizuki motioned to one of the serving girls, snapping his fingers when she glanced first at Kite and then at Mizuki. Swapping out his empty glass for a flute of pink champagne, Mizuki smiled sweetly up at Kite and dismissed the girl with an absent 'thank you'. "Only what Shuusuke has told him, I'd imagine."

"And that would be?" Kite asked, swirling the wine in his glass. Mizuki liked to play games – it was there in his eyes.

"Oh, just that you'd swept Tezuka off his feet and were likely going to make a fool out of him and break his heart just like Atobe did. Popular opinion is that Tezuka had at least been able to maintain his dignity when he cut Atobe loose." Pausing to sweep Kite with a slow, knowing glance, Mizuki's eyes were dark when he looked up at him again. "I don't think that's going to be possible with someone like you."

Kite arched a brow in question, but said nothing.

"It's not difficult to imagine someone making a fool of himself over someone like you, Kite Eishirou," Mizuki continued.

Smiling lazily, Kite leaned in close – close enough to smell the alcohol on Mizuki's breath – and wiped away a smudge of pink lip-gloss from the rim of Mizuki's glass. "Then I suppose I can trust you to put your Fujis' fears to rest, Mizuki-kun."

Mizuki licked his lips, pink sparkles on his tongue. The sudden rush of color to his cheeks had less to do with Kite's proximity than with the shudder of excitement he experienced merely at being given ownership of more than one Fuji. "You can," he was quick to assure Kite, licking the tip of one finger to slowly circle the rim of his glass. "You can trust me."

With his fingertips light at the side of Mizuki's neck, Kite brought him in close to whisper against his ear. "There's no need for Fuji to worry over Tezuka's heart any longer."

Head tilted, Mizuki's eyelashes fluttered and his grip on the flute's stem slackened just a bit when Kite's lips brushed his ear. "Go on," he whispered.

Kite smiled a little, watching Fuji Yuuta's expression darken from just across the room. _Possessive_. An emotion Kite understood very well, indeed.

"Tezuka belongs to me now. I'll _never_ let him go."

"You're in love with him," Mizuki said, whispering and intrigued and clearly excited by the secret Kite was sharing. That someone could be so passionate and devoted where Tezuka Kunimitsu was concerned was still something of a surprise – Mizuki thought he was quite the tight-ass, personally – but there was no mistaking Kite's sincerity. It was enough to give him a little shiver.

Drawing back again, Kite licked the rim of his wineglass and offered Mizuki a polite smile, as though he hadn't just been very nearly nibbling his earlobe. "Yes," he said simply. "And so you can tell Fuji Shuusuke that I'm relieving him of his long-standing obligation as the esteemed keeper of Tezuka's well-being. I've got it under control."

Smirking, Mizuki drained his champagne as though his heart weren't pounding beneath his shimmery, lavender sweater set. " _Nfu_. Tell him yourself, loverboy. He's headed this way."

"Hajime," Yuuta said, jaw clenched tight. Mizuki merely smiled, however, and looped his arm through Yuuta's. Smiling up at him, head tilted, he favored Yuuta with the same beguiling sort of look that he'd offered Kite only moments before.

Raising his glass idly, Kite smiled at Mizuki. "You're in love with him," he said.

Mizuki patted Yuuta's shoulder and cozied up to him shamelessly. "Yes."

"I was just having a conversation with Kite-san," Mizuki said, looking up at Yuuta. "Did you know that he's Tezuka's guest?"

"Yes," was all that Yuuta would say, blushing and sparing a hard glance at Kite as he turned away, leading Mizuki with him.

Over his shoulder, Mizuki smiled at Kite though he followed Yuuta happily.

"Causing dissention?" Fuji asked from just behind him and Kite laughed softly.

"Not deliberately," he said, setting his glass on a table nearby and offering Fuji his full attention. "Mizuki-kun is a handful, it seems."

"You can't imagine," Fuji returned, wry and unamused. "I heard what you said. About Tezuka."

"Good," Kite said, feeling Tezuka's gaze on him keenly. But he didn't look away.

"All that's left is to work out whether or not you're sincere."

"And you consider that task yours to see to?"

"I do," Fuji said, fingers linked behind his back, expression pleasantly neutral. "Tezuka is much stronger physically than he is emotionally. But you probably know that already."

"I disagree," Kite said shrugging. "Tezuka is entirely capable of taking care of himself. He turned me away on more than one occasion before he finally gave in and I can promise you that he didn't do it because of any weakness on his part."

"Oh?" Fuji prompted, head cocked. "Why did he give in, then?"

"Because he trusts me," Kite said simply.

"And that's all?"

"Maybe he wants me around," Kite suggested, pausing briefly. "Maybe he loves me."

Silent for a few moments, clearly considering Kite's sincerity, Fuji held his gaze, unblinking. That their relationship could be so simple when Tezuka had always been prone to complication in any relationship he'd ever found himself in was obviously difficult for Fuji to believe. "I suppose we'll see," Fuji finally said, leaning in to smooth the crease of Kite's lapel. "Won't we?"

Kite smiled, smoothing the lapel again when Fuji stepped away. "I suppose we will."

"Excuse me, Kite-san," Fuji said, turning. "My sister needs me."

Kite watched him go and wondered if Tezuka had managed to capture a piece of Fuji Shuusuke's heart the same way he'd managed to steal a little piece of Oishi's, Atobe's and Echizen's. Surprisingly, he experienced no jealousy at the possibility that it might be so. Who better than he could understand why anyone would find Tezuka lovable?

As if on cue, Atobe strolled up beside him though he didn't spare Kite a glance, initially. With one hand tucked casually into his pocket and the other loose at his side, Atobe seemed to only have eyes for Tezuka. After a few moments, when it became obvious that Kite was not going to greet him first, Atobe smiled, straightened his shoulders.

"So far this evening I've seen you stand in this same spot and flirt with no less than three different men when you've yet to join Tezuka as his... _whatever_ you think you are to him."

"That's odd," Kite said. "I would have thought you'd be too busy staring at Tezuka and kicking yourself for being unable to hold his interest and instead I find out that you only have eyes for me? You flatter me, Atobe Keigo."

Atobe slid him a sideways glance. His features were sharp, drawn in irritation. "I didn't need to stare at him from afar – as you seem to have been doing since your arrival – as he approached me first. To say _hello_ , you understand." Atobe turned to face Kite, standing just an inch or two closer than would be considered polite. So close, Kite could count every one of the suit's fine, white pinstripes if he'd so desired and the fabric's texture was such that Kite suspected it wasn't any sort of blend. _Preening peacock_.

"Let's get one thing straight right now," he began, eyes narrowed. "You are only able to claim an attachment to Tezuka because of _me_. If it weren't for me, you'd never have met him again and he certainly would never have lowered himself to such an extent that he would actually consider allowing someone like _you_ into his bed."

Kite regarded him mildly, all exaggeration when he tilted his head to listen even more carefully.

"He loved me first," he said, almost smiling. "And he will always love me. Long after the novelty of sleeping with a second-class citizen has worn off and you're nothing more than a thing of the past, I am the one he'll remember most fondly.”

"Indeed," Kite finally allowed. "In fact, I should probably thank you for being such an inconsiderate, selfish ass since if you'd been a better lover, you may have been able to hold onto him just long enough to keep our paths from ever crossing."

Jaw tightening, Atobe glared at Kite. He was livid and just articulate enough that Kite doubted his behavior was the cause of an excess in alcohol consumption.

"Though I should probably correct this somewhat inaccurate opinion you seemed to have formed regarding the circumstances of our coming together." He paused, smiling and all politeness. "I picked him up in a coffee shop and asked him to come home with me. So it was he who crawled into my bed and not the other way around. I won't go into details, as that would be disrespectful to Tezuka, but I don't mind telling you that I was willing to fight for him from the moment I held him. And when he didn't trust that I was sincere, I kept fighting for him. He's worth it, don't you think?"

Chest rising and falling in an effort to maintain his faultless posture, both hands clenched at his sides, Atobe appeared angry enough to chew through leather. Kite straightened his shoulders and continued, knowing he was pushing it, but certain that it was nothing less than Atobe deserved. Consulting his watch idly, he raised his brows in surprise.

"In less than three hours, we'll be on our way to Okinawa." Pausing for effect and meeting Atobe's eyes again, Kite lowered his voice and spoke seriously for the first time since Atobe had joined him. "I'm taking him home with me to meet my family. Because I care more about Tezuka than I care about _daddy's money_."

Before Kite could smile, before he could get the last word and excuse himself to Tezuka's side – in the interests of driving his point home – Atobe's right hook caught him completely by surprise.

Almost immediately, the chatter around them lowered considerably in volume, only to start back up again when it became obvious what had just transpired.

"Fight!" Someone shouted, moving around the table without watching where he was going and sending it – and the cake – toppling to the floor in a disastrous heap.

Knocked back against the makeshift bar, one hand flat on the counter, Kite turned his head slowly. He touched the corner of his mouth, fingertips coming away wet with blood, and when he looked at Atobe again, something inside him snapped.

Charging Atobe, Kite shoved him hard to his back and pinned him to the floor with his knees at Atobe's shoulders. He grabbed a handful of Atobe's hair and drew back his fist in preparation of returning the favor and then some. Atobe flinched, turning his head and raising one hand to block the punch that never came.

Strong fingers closed around Kite's wrist, pulling him hard to his feet. Wrapping both arms around Kite's chest, pinning both arms at his sides, Kawamura spoke just against his ear. "I'm sorry he sucker punched you, but you're not fighting in here."

Just across from him, Fuji held Atobe by one bicep. If Atobe's expression of discomfort was anything to go by, he was being held in an iron grip, himself. With his lips pressed to Atobe's ear, Fuji spoke to him in a low voice, though he never once took his eyes off of Kite. When he let go, Atobe stumbled and Fuji crossed his arms over his chest, expression decidedly unpleasant.

Soon after, Kawamura released Kite and thumped him hard on the back. "Ease up, pal," he said, sweeping up a few empty glasses and returning them to the bar. Kite threw Atobe a filthy look, but Atobe wasn't looking at him. He was on his way to the front door without a backward glance. Seconds after, Echizen followed him without a word of farewell to anyone.

After a moment, conversation started up again and Kite licked the corner of his mouth and winced. He shoved both hands into his pockets and hoped he looked contrite; Tezuka was heading in his direction. It wasn't an act – he truly was sorry that he'd fought with Atobe – but he wouldn't shoulder the blame, either. Atobe had thrown the first punch.

Without a word, Tezuka steadied Kite's head with light fingertips at his jaw, head tilted when he dabbed gingerly at Kite's lip with a napkin. "You're bleeding," he murmured.

Wrinkling his nose, Kite struggled to hold still. His mouth hurt and he didn't want Tezuka scrubbing at it, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask him to stop, either. It wasn't often that Tezuka seemed interested in babying him. "Thanks for noticing."

"I'm sorry he did that," Tezuka finally said, frowning and looking pensive when he touched Kite's mouth gingerly. "It's not like him."

"Please," Kite began. "Don't tell me what a nice guy he is _deep down_."

Tezuka snorted. "I wouldn't." He sighed, squeezing the damp cloth in one fist and looking up at Kite. His brows were drawn, he looked troubled. "But he's not as bad as you're thinking he is, either."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" Kite asked, smiling a little when Tezuka glared. "Okay, okay, point taken. I won't hold it against him."

At Tezuka's obvious apprehension, Kite shrugged. "If I were him, I'd want to kick my ass, too."

Tezuka glanced away, but didn't object when Kite touched his face briefly. "Are you angry with me?"

Shaking his head once, Tezuka still didn't look up. After a moment, Kite rested one hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "It'll be all right," he said. "Eventually."

Nodding faintly, Tezuka leaned into Kite's touch but straightened when Momoshiro approached them.

"And here I was thinking this party was going to dull."

"Momo," Tezuka said, taking Momo's hand and shaking it. "I wasn't sure I'd see you here."

Scratching the back of his neck, Momoshiro laughed. "I wasn't sure I wanted to come. But Fuji-senpai got all frosty and quiet on the phone when I said that and so I figured what the hell. Anyways, now he's mad at me 'cause I accidentally knocked over the cake so I probably should have just stayed home."

Shoulders slumped, Momoshiro sighed forlornly and Tezuka patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sure you didn't mean to."

"Of course I didn't mean to! But still...what's done is done."

"Momoshiro, you remember Kite Eishirou," Tezuka said, eager to change the subject.

"Well," Momoshiro said, hedging. "Not really. But it's nice to meet you, Kite."

Kite offered his hand in greeting, but Momoshiro brought his fists up instead, dodging. "Too bad Taka-san broke up the fight. It was about to get good."

He laughed then. "I bet Ryoma figured he was the only one who was gonna get to see _Ore-sama_ on his back tonight."

Tezuka stiffened. Kite froze, hand still extended though it was obvious that Momoshiro had since moved on.

"I probably shouldn't have said that," he muttered.

Kite straightened his jacket and attempted to regain his composure. "Guess we won't be cutting any cake tonight."

Instantly contrite again, Momoshiro glanced over at Fuji and Kawamura, who were cleaning up the mess he'd made of the cake. "Maybe I should go over and help..."

Tezuka nodded, but appeared distracted just as he'd been about to speak again. Head tilted, he stared at the door. "Momo?"

"Huh?" Momo responded, following Tezuka's line of vision. Eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, he blinked several times in surprise.

"Isn't that Ryuuzaki Sakuno?"

Kite looked, too, though he'd never before seen the bashful, nervous looking girl who stood just in the doorway with a huge, imposing man just at her side. The man took her coat, smiled down at her and arranged one long braid over her shoulder. She blushed and patted his arm.

"Yeah," Momoshiro said, sounding confused. "But what's she doing with Kabaji?"

 

\+ + +

 

The silence was deafening. The wind outside the vehicle and the tires over pavement were loud enough, steady enough, to lull someone to sleep. Sleep, however, was the last thing on Ryoma's mind. Still on edge and attempting to work out if he wanted to punch Atobe in the face or haul him close and show him what he was missing, Ryoma settled for reciprocal silence and the occasional sideways glare of disgust. Thus far, Atobe had pretended not to notice.

"You can stop glaring at me," he finally snapped, arms crossed over his chest. "I see you, you know."

Half-turning, Ryoma regarded Atobe for a few seconds before answering. "No," he said, tone light and non-committal. "I don't think you do."

Finally, Atobe turned his head to look at Ryoma. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, sitting over there pouting because Tezuka threw you over for Kite. I think that's _all_ you see."

"That's ridiculous," Atobe said, eyes narrowing in irritation. "I'm over it."

"Yeah? Why'd you pick a fight with Kite, then?"

When Atobe seemed disinclined to answer, Ryoma leaned in conspiratorially. "And don't tell me he started it. Because I know he didn't."

"Oh, do you?" Atobe said, for want of anything better to say. That he had no real ground to stand on was obvious to the both of them though Atobe would never have acknowledged it.

"That's right, I do."

"I suppose you're on his side, then. Just like Tezuka."

Bowing his head, Ryoma covered his eyes and shook his head. Atobe's poor-poor-pitiful-me act wasn't anything new to Ryoma. He was, however, amused by the certainty that very few people got to see this side of Atobe. Oshitari, Kabaji and – once upon a time – Tezuka. As irritating as it was and as much as it tried Ryoma's patience, he couldn't help finding Atobe's behavior somewhat endearing.

"No, Keigo, I'm not on his side _like Tezuka_. I'm not fucking the guy."

At Atobe's hateful glare, Ryoma shook his head again. "I'm on _your_ side."

Atobe turned his head. Ryoma studied his reflection in the window and knew that – at least this time – Atobe wasn't doing the same.

"Didn't I follow you out?" Ryoma asked, voice low. "Not a single word, Keigo. You left and I followed."

It was quiet again. The wind and the tires and the lights muted by the dark tinted windows. After a moment or two, Atobe spoke up. "Why _did_ you?"

Ryoma laughed, but there was no real humor in it. "That's what I meant. I don't think you see me at all."

He was beginning to wonder if he ever would, though he felt that part was better left unsaid. Atobe didn't answer but when he glanced down at his hands, so still and pale in his lap, Ryoma knew he'd given him something to think about. It was ten full minutes before he spoke again.

"I remember. That night," Atobe said quietly. "I drank too much."

Ryoma didn't answer, but he listened. He found that he couldn't look away and he wondered if Tezuka had ever bothered to see Atobe's inner conflicts the way he so easily recognized his own. It was no wonder they hadn't been able to make it work.

"That night that you threw out all the alcohol," he said. "It was you, I know it."

"Guilty as charged," Ryoma said, shrugging. He'd never intended to deny it in the first place.

"I remember falling asleep. You were beside me."

Leaning his head against the seat, Ryoma watched Atobe in profile. It was warm inside the vehicle and intimate in a way that Ryoma had never really considered before. Atobe didn't try to hide anything of himself from Ryoma. He wondered at the significance.

"Do you remember anything I said to you?" Ryoma asked, but Atobe seemed unwilling to answer. This time, Ryoma would let it go, but not for good. He wouldn't make Tezuka's mistakes.

The remainder of the trip passed silently and Ryoma felt certain that Atobe would instruct his driver to see him home after they'd reached his own place. With the car idling at the gates to Atobe's estate, Ryoma waited for his goodbye. For the dismissal he was certain he'd receive.

"Atobe-san?" The driver asked. "Shall I park the vehicle?"

Ryoma almost laughed – so circumspect, the snooty elite could be.

Glancing briefly at Ryoma, who offered no indication that had a preference at all, Atobe cleared his throat. "Yes, please. We'll be staying in the remainder of the evening."

He didn't look at Ryoma when he said it and, for the first time that evening, Ryoma smiled.

They didn't speak on the way inside the house. Atobe waited until Ryoma was inside, shrugging out of his jacket and bending to remove his shoes before locking the door and engaging the security system again.

He followed suit, taking off his shoes but carrying them back to his room. In the foyer, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. "There's no one here."

Ryoma nodded, following him through the main room and toward the short stairs that led to Atobe's suite. The house was dark, there was no sound – the atmosphere was exactly as Ryoma preferred that it be.

Through Atobe's sitting room and into his bedroom, Ryoma followed without a word, closing the door and leaning against it to watch Atobe set his shoes down and rise to begin working the buttons of his jacket free.

"Stop," Ryoma said. Almost immediately, Atobe stilled but he didn't turn around. It was interesting to Ryoma how their every interaction was like a carefully choreographed production. He supposed that it was the only way Atobe was able to interact with most people at all, but his acknowledgment of it wasn't reason enough to make him want to play along.

He crossed the room slowly, wondering how long Atobe would wait – how long he would give Ryoma the upper hand – and moved close behind him to rest his hands on Atobe's shoulders.

"I want to do that," he said, sliding his hands down along the lapels of Atobe's jacket. "Will you let me?"

Half-turning, Atobe murmured, "I'm surprised that you're asking."

"Why wouldn't I ask?" Ryoma asked him, rubbing his cheek against Atobe's neck and nosing against his hair. "You haven't invited me to your bed yet."

"That didn't stop you last time," Atobe reminded him.

"You weren't in any condition to answer," Ryoma said. "I guess I took advantage. I won't do that again."

"Oh?"

"I want to be here because you want me here," Ryoma said. "Like I told you before, Keigo: this has nothing to do with Tezuka. I want you to be real with me."

Tilting his head a little, Atobe didn't resist when Ryoma slid the first button free. "I came back here for a reason, you know."

Atobe didn't say a word, but his hand splayed at Ryoma's hip while Ryoma went to work on his buttons was acknowledgment enough. By the time Ryoma eased both his jacket and his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, Atobe had leaned his head back against Ryoma's shoulder and was just as complacent as Ryoma had ever seen.

He tossed the fine garments aside, satisfied when Atobe did not object, and kissed his neck, his shoulder when he hooked his thumb under Atobe's belt loop. "If you're going to push me away, now would be the time," he murmured against Atobe's ear. His hair smelled good, his skin was soft.

In response, Atobe reached between them to pop the first button of Ryoma's jeans before releasing the clasp of his own belt. It was all Ryoma needed.

With one arm around Atobe's waist, Ryoma walked him toward the wall, pressing him there to grip his hips and push hard against him. Atobe exhaled and Ryoma kissed his neck, then his jaw, to capture his mouth in a hard, messy kiss. He unzipped Atobe's pants and slipped his hand inside to rub his dick, the palm of his hand hot over silky underwear. It was nothing to roll the scrap of silk over his hips – just halfway down – and when Atobe's pants slid to pool around his ankles, Ryoma grabbed his hips again.

Atobe hissed, the head of his cock brushing the wall, and Ryoma rubbed his balls over the tight fabric. "You want it as bad as I do," Ryoma told him, breath hot against Atobe's ear. "You like it this way."

Atobe didn't object and he grunted when Ryoma slipped his hand into his underwear to touch him. He rocked his hips, attempting to spread his legs when Ryoma cupped him between his legs. Gripping him about the waist again, Ryoma pressed him tightly against the wall to rub insistently against him. He squirmed, restless when Ryoma did not seek to touch his cock and when he pushed back, Ryoma took his hands to flatten them against the wall. "Don't move," he said, kissing the corner of Atobe's mouth before sinking to his knees behind him.

Atobe didn't move. He didn't move when Ryoma nuzzled the curve of his lower back and he didn't move when Ryoma leaned his head against it to ease his underwear down his legs. He helped Atobe step out of them and his hands were slow up along the back of his calves and thighs. When he palmed Atobe's ass, squeezing and kneading, he leaned in to nibble the curve of one cheek; he wanted more than this. Atobe tensed, growing very still, and Ryoma rose once more to whisper against his ear.

"Where do you want me?"

Seemingly comfortable to have Ryoma standing again and ready to get things moving, Atobe said, "The bed," and half-turned to grip Ryoma's wrist. His dick was hard and he was sleepy-eyed and hot to the touch. It took most of Ryoma's self-control to avoid pushing him back against the wall and fucking him right there.

Marveling at the composed, dignified way Atobe padded toward the bed, Ryoma allowed himself to be pulled along. When Atobe stood at the side of the huge, western style bed, Ryoma wrapped both arms around him from behind and spoke against his cheek.

"Top or bottom?"

"What?" Atobe said, sounding distracted.

"It's not a trick question," Ryoma told him, enunciating his next words slowly and deliberately. "Do you want to be on top or on the bottom?"

It was clear to Atobe that he hadn't expected Ryoma to ask. He hesitated, as though trying to come to a decision.

"Come on, Keigo – do you really need to think about it?"

Ryoma kissed him, wrapping one hand around his cock and kissing his neck, just behind his ear. "Do you want me to fuck you or not?"

"Yes," Atobe breathed, making up his mind rather quickly at that point. And then he crawled onto the bed, glancing back at Ryoma. "The lube's in my armoire."

Ryoma grinned, turning to open the cabinet and searching around until he found what he was looking for. Tossing the tube toward Atobe, Ryoma approached the bed, unfastening his pants and hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. Stretched out on the bed, leaning back on his elbows, Atobe watched Ryoma undress, His eyes lingered exactly where Ryoma had hoped they might, and his dick jerked when Atobe licked his lips. He was unashamed and unabashed, lying there naked atop his ostentatious bed while he waited for Ryoma to join him.

Rummaging through his pockets, Ryoma withdrew a strip of condoms, ripping one off and tossing the others onto the table beside the bed. Atobe glanced over, eyes widening - there were five on the table. Ryoma had one caught between his teeth.

But then he was crawling over Atobe, lube and condoms an afterthought when he straddled Atobe's hips and leaned in close to frame Atobe's face with both hands.

"Keigo," he said, looking directly into his eyes and not allowing Atobe to look away. "I don't want you to tell your Father that I'm the love of your life. I don't want to pick out rings or move in together or adopt little homeless children and set up house together. I just want to know that when I come back after a few weeks on the road, you'll be here waiting for me."

"Is that all?" Atobe asked wryly.

"No," Ryoma said, kissing his mouth and coaxing his lips apart for a slow, deep sort of kiss. "I don't want to share you with anyone else."

"And what about you?" Atobe asked, raising his chin to seek more of the same.

"I only want you," Ryoma told him, kissing him again when Atobe hesitated.

Reaching for the lube, Atobe stared up at him for a long moment. Finally he blinked and pressed the tube against Ryoma's bicep. Ryoma seemed disinterested in making further demands and Atobe didn't ask him to elaborate. There was an understanding between them that seemed to come easily, naturally and when Ryoma released Atobe to take the tube from him, Atobe closed his eyes and gripped the back of Ryoma's neck to pull him close for another kiss. This one was fast, hard, intense and Atobe took control of this one the way he hadn't seemed interested in doing so before.

"All right," Atobe finally murmured against Ryoma's mouth.

"Yeah?" Ryoma asked again, shifting to move between Atobe's legs, nudging them apart and pushing against the backs of his thighs with his knees.

"Yes," Atobe said, making himself comfortable when Ryoma bent to nose against his belly. He kissed him there, lingering over certain places when Atobe shivered, smiling against his skin when he uncapped the lube.

"Just relax," Ryoma told him, fingers slippery and cool against him for only a moment before he began to push inside him. Atobe made some low sound when Ryoma rose above him again, tonguing at his bellybutton while he worked at getting him ready.

"Is this all right?" he asked, glancing up once to see Atobe nod his acceptance and it was all that he required.

"Stay with me," he said, knowing that Atobe would understand that it was the present and not the future that Ryoma referred to. He closed his eyes, working both fingers inside Atobe in a slow, steady rhythm when he rubbed his lips against the tip of his cock. He tasted him, licked and sucked at him until Atobe was restless beneath him.

Legs spread, back arched, lips parted though he'd barely made a sound, Atobe stretched both arms overhead and finally, finally moaned Ryoma's name.

"You have to stop," he managed, breathing hard. "Ryoma."

Twisting two fingers inside him, Ryoma raised his head to watch Atobe writhe, to see his frustration. "Almost," Ryoma said, licking his lips and tasting Atobe on his tongue.

"Now," Atobe corrected, winding his fingers into the back of Ryoma's hair to tug hard. "Fuck me. _Ryoma_."

Grunting when Ryoma's fingers slid free of him, he felt along the bed for the condom, gazing up at Ryoma in confusion when he wouldn't take it from him.

"Put it on me," Ryoma said, kneeling between Atobe's thighs. His dick was hard, flushed dark with arousal, and Atobe bit his lip when he ripped the foil and tossed it aside. His hands shook and the muscles in his belly flexed when he leaned up to roll the condom into place. He watched, jaw slack when Ryoma squeezed still more lube into the palm of his hand to slick his cock thoroughly.

With both hands on the bed, Atobe shifted as though to turn over onto his belly, but Ryoma halted him, easing him onto his back and slipping both hands beneath his bottom. He hauled him closer, his thighs draped over Ryoma's and then Ryoma leaned over him again.

"Like this," Ryoma told him, lips moving against Atobe's when he began to push inside him.

Atobe sucked in a breath, tensing until Ryoma kissed his mouth – slow and hot and deep. "Relax," he whispered.

Atobe inhaled, eyes closed, unable to stop the entreating sound that trembled just at his lips. "Ryoma," he said again, because he couldn't say anything else, and he wrapped both arms around Ryoma's neck.

Easing one arm beneath Atobe's neck, Ryoma wrapped his other hand around Atobe's dick and buried his face against the warm, damp curve of his neck. Strands of his hair were wet and Ryoma couldn't tell if it was sweat or Ryoma's saliva. He sucked his neck, breathed hot against him and jerked his cock in counterpoint to every flex of his hips.

He wanted to go slow – tried so hard to hold it together and make it last – but Atobe was deliciously tight and restless beneath him, making it almost impossible to maintain a steady pace. Atobe didn't seem to want him to try, either.

"Don't stop," Atobe said, lips hot at Ryoma's jaw, and Ryoma moaned against his neck, almost wishing he wouldn't say those things when he was working _so hard_ not to come.

" _Unnh_ , Keigo," he said, eyes closed tight when he released his hold on Atobe's dick to grip the insides of his thighs and fuck him harder, faster.

Quiet no longer, Atobe arched beneath him, reaching between them to get a hand around his dick. There wasn't any room between them and when Ryoma shifted to wrap both arms around Atobe's ribs, Atobe moved his hand to rest at Ryoma's back. Ryoma's belly was hot and slick against Atobe's cock and with every thrust into him, Atobe's dick nudged his bellybutton.

He turned his head, blindly seeking Ryoma's mouth and the moment Ryoma pushed his tongue past his lips, Atobe moaned against his mouth and tightened around his dick. Breaking the kiss, he bared his neck, arching under Ryoma and rubbing his cock against him.

" _Fuck_ , Ryoma, I'm...," he began, one hand tight in Ryoma's hair and the other digging into Ryoma's back. But then he was coming and he couldn't say another word.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Ryoma sank his teeth into Atobe's shoulder, muffling the sound he made when Atobe clenched tight around him and spilled hot between them.

He thought he might have said Atobe's name, but it wasn't until he pressed his hips tight to Atobe's bottom – that one last time – that he realized he'd never said a word. Inside his head, however, there was nothing but his own echo of Atobe's name.

 _Keigo_.

This time, Atobe didn't fall asleep and Ryoma didn't pull away first. Neither of them spoke, simply shared breath and space and heat and all the things that Ryoma was always eager to be rid of after sex with another person.

But, this time, he didn't move. And Atobe didn't let him go.


	18. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

 

It had been an hour since Chinen had uttered a single word. Even then, it had been merely to inquire after Rin's desire for a soda and, if he were interested, could he get Chinen one too?

Both cans were empty now, sitting on the small table and partially obscuring Rin's view of the 13-inch TV that perched atop a stereo speaker that had long since shorted out.

"What's wrong?" Chinen finally asked. "You're fidgeting."

Rin sighed, blew his bangs up when he leaned back against the arm of Chinen's chair. The soda cans blocked his entire view now. "Nothing."

"Restless?" Chinen asked, absorbed in the documentary he watched even as he touched Rin's shoulder.

"Bored, Hiroshi," Rin told him. "This shit is putting me to sleep."

With a quiet chuckle, Chinen touched the side of Rin's neck, leaned his head against Chinen's knee. He was silent for a few moments, stroking Rin's temple with the edge of his thumb while some Swedish scientist attempted to explain a tsunami's trajectory in layman's terms. "Go to bed, then," he murmured.

"It's nine o'clock, I don't want to go to bed," Rin objected. "I'm not eighty, Hiroshi."

Glancing briefly at Rin – hair and eyes so bright under the TV's muted light – Chinen smiled a little. Rin was scowling; he was unsatisfied. But he'd been with Chinen since the day he'd returned to Okinawa and he seemed entirely disinterested in resuming the lifestyle he'd preferred since high school. Things were different now and while Chinen was hesitant to place blame where it was most undeserved, he couldn't help wondering if it were Kite's rejection that had prompted Rin to reevaluate the direction of his life. Couldn't help wondering if Kite's inability to love Rin had made a consolation prize of his own feelings.

"You want to go out?" he asked, though going out was the very last thing he was interested in. Chinen worked long hours and was a homebody, besides. Sometimes, though Rin seemed content enough to adopt his sedate sort of lifestyle, Chinen worried that he would soon grow bored and things would change between them yet again. Truthfully, that worry was the one thing that held him back where Rin was concerned. More than once, Rin had hinted that he was eager to pursue a physical relationship and still Chinen demurred. He loved Rin – had loved him for years – and was unwilling to risk his own heart until he was certain things were solid between them. It made him feel guilty, when he thought about it, to realize that he simply didn't trust Rin enough to let go.

"No," Rin pouted, resting his head on Chinen's leg and closing his eyes when Chinen wound strands of hair around his fingertips.

"What do you want, then?" Chinen asked, television forgotten.

Turning his head, moving slow, Rin looked up at Chinen and lifted one hand to toy with one of his shirt buttons. For once, he didn't seem eager to pack their silence with empty words. These days, he seemed more himself the quieter he became. He'd never be as introspective as Chinen or Kite, but Chinen couldn't help thinking the time they'd spent together lately had helped Rin to put things into perspective. Perhaps, Chinen dared to hope, Rin would find himself and his purpose. Perhaps he'd do it without anyone's help. Perhaps he wouldn't need Kite for this, for _anything_.

He looked expectant, poised – as though there were something he wanted to say – but then he closed his eyes, exhaling and relaxing. "I forgot to tell you," he began, sounding lazy without a trace of the irritation that had been present before. "I'm going back to school next month."

Chinen froze, his fingertips hovering just over Rin's cheek. After a moment, he realized that he'd been holding his breath and he curled his fingers over the arm of his chair. He couldn't touch Rin now, not when this moment might be a prelude to a very unwelcome goodbye.

"Oh?" he said, hoping he sounded noncommittal enough.

"Yeah," Rin went on. "If I work really hard, I can graduate with Yuujiroh. Still have a decent shot at some kind of a future, you know?"

When Chinen had yet to utter a word and had stopped touching him besides, Rin opened his eyes. He looked apprehensive. "Don't worry, I'm going to get a job soon. I don't expect you to..." he paused, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Looking at you?" Chinen echoed, attempting to process this very casually delivered information. Unless he was completely lost, it sounded as though Rin intended to stay in the area. But he couldn't be sure. Couldn't get his hopes up. Not yet.

"I thought you'd be glad," Rin said. "I mean, I can't sponge off of you forever, Hiroshi." He looked away briefly. "I don't want to wear out my welcome, either."

"You want to stay?" was all Chinen could think to say.

Rin didn't answer and though he didn't move away, he'd grown tense.

"Rin," Chinen murmured and Rin rolled his eyes Chinen's way.

"I'm glad," he said, holding Rin's gaze in the near-darkness.

"I never said 'thank you'," Rin answered, bashful now for the look in Chinen's eyes. "For being here for me."

He laughed. "You've always been there for me, though, haven't you, Hiroshi? I won't forget it."

Chinen shook his head. "You're not obligated-"

Glaring, Rin nudged his knee. "Don't insult me, asshole."

"It makes sense to me now, you know," he continued. "When you turned me down last time."

Confused, Chinen tilted his head. "I've never turned you down."

Rin snorted. "Yeah, well. Turned down, pushed back – whatever. You didn't take from me when I offered. I just wanted you to know that I get it."

Chinen stared, unsure of what he should say. He wanted to reassure Rin, wanted to kiss him, wanted to tell Rin how much it drained him to constantly hold part of himself back. In the end, it was the tried and true that he relied on: his role as the diligent protector.

"You don't have to get a job right away."

Gaze searching, Rin looked up at Chinen quietly.

"You'll need all the study time you can get."

When Rin still didn't answer, Chinen went on. "You have a place to stay; you don't need to worry about money right now."

"Hiroshi," Rin finally said, suddenly warm and restless in a way he hadn't been before.

Pressing the pads of his fingers to Rin's mouth, Chinen closed his eyes, biting his lip when Rin pursed his lips in the tiniest imitation of a kiss. And yet it was more real, more honest, than any kiss Chinen had ever hoped to receive.

"It's not obligation," he whispered. "What I feel."

Chinen didn't, couldn't, open his eyes. These kinds of dreams weren't typically his to realize. It was hard to believe that Rin would be so content to hang back with him when he could press forward with just about anyone he desired. "It's too soon. Kite..."

"That was over a long time ago," Rin responded. "I just didn't know it."

"That's my point," Chinen said. "You're still hurt."

"No more than you," was Rin's quick response. "It's why we fit so well."

"I don't want any promises," Chinen said, surprised to hear Rin's quiet laughter. He opened his eyes.

"Liar," Rin said. "You want every promise you can get out of me. You just don't trust me not to break them."

Eyes widening, Chinen didn't move when Rin shifted, resting both hands on Chinen's knees as he moved in closer.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

Easing Chinen's knees apart, Rin leaned between his legs, both hands resting near Chinen's on the armrests. "You think I'm so self-absorbed that I don't know what everyone else thinks of me? What _you_ think of me?"

Shaking his head, ready to protest, Chinen stilled when Rin pressed snugly against him.

"You don't need to worry, Hiroshi. Your heart is more important to me than mine is."

"Obligation," Chinen said again, somehow managing not to cower when Rin grabbed a handful of his baggy shirt.

"I don't do obligation. You should know me better than that."

"I do," Chinen said. "I need you to be sure."

"Of what?"

"Of me," Chinen told him solemnly.

"Are you sure of me?" Rin was quick to turn it around.

"Yes," Chinen answered, just as quickly.

"Prove it."

They were silent for a moment, Rin's challenge big and loud and between them, no matter that he'd barely spoken above a whisper. Somehow, he'd turned the situation around – smacked the ball right back into Chinen's court. And Chinen hadn't played in _years_.

It was nothing to tangle his fingers into the back of Rin's hair, grab his shirt to haul him forward when he still clutched Chinen so similarly. Nothing to catch the look in his eyes just that split second before Chinen pressed his mouth to Rin's. Nothing to make this kiss so entirely unlike the last one they'd shared. It was sharp, possessive, and when Rin gripped Chinen's thighs, Chinen took the sort of control he'd always fantasized that he might.

Rin curved to him, pliant and eager and familiar even when this sort of exchange was relatively new to the both of them. He parted his lips, shifting to grip Chinen's skinny hips through thin shorts, to swallow the sweet sound Chinen made.

There was no obligation in this.

Chinen had both hands in Rin's hair now, touching his neck, framing his face. Rin pressed in tighter, spreading Chinen's legs and hauling him closer to lie against him. He stayed close when Chinen broke the kiss, even going so far as to wind his arms around Chinen's neck.

"I'm not going anywhere, Hiroshi," he said. Not because he had to say something or because he needed to reassure him – but because it was true. For the first time in his life, Rin was happy to live in the moment, even when that moment lacked the excitement and the uncertainty of the hundreds of moments he'd lost himself to in the past. In this place, with this person, excitement meant something different, something new. "And it's not because I need someone or because I'm lost or because I can't live life on my own."

Holding Chinen's gaze, he leaned in, kissed him again and then again. Darting in and away too quickly to allow Chinen to hold him. "I'm here because I want to be and for no other reason."

This time, when Chinen kissed him, Rin knew that he'd won. Eyes closed and holding on tight, there was little of the restraint that Chinen had shown before. It would be too easy to push a few boundaries, to make Chinen prove just how sure of Rin he truly was.

"Still want me to go to bed?" Rin asked, familiar, teasing smile just _there_ , and Chinen knew were this was going. He licked his lips, preparing to answer, savoring the question he knew he wouldn't have to ask twice, but –

His phone was ringing.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rin said. "Nobody ever calls you, Hiroshi and they have to call _now_?"

"Thanks," Chinen said, frowning as he shifted against Rin. He needed to move. His dick was hard.

Rin moved aside, sprawling against the chair when Chinen stepped over him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing the front of his shorts in what Rin imagined he felt was inconspicuous. "I'll be quick."

Snorting, Rin flopped back on the floor, staring at the ceiling and the paint that had begun to peel there.

"Yes," Chinen was saying. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"

Silence.

"Not busy, exactly," he answered, to which Rin frowned. "Okay, hold on."

Sighing heavily, Chinen lowered the phone and shot Rin a guilty look.

"What is it?" Rin asked, a little worried for the odd way Chinen was acting.

"It's Kite," Chinen said. "He's at the airport."

"So?" Rin countered.

"He wants us to come and get him."

Rin blinked, wondered where this was all heading. "Can't he take a cab?"

Chinen just stared at him and, finally, Rin got to his feet – mutual erections gone by the wayside now. "Fine, fine. Let's get it over with."

"We're leaving now, then." Chinen said to Kite.

Silence.

"You owe me. Yes, _again_."

Rin huffed, stuffing his feet into sandals when Chinen hung up the phone. "He ruins _everything_. I can't wait to hear what's so important he had to fly back tonight without making any prior arrangements. Always dragging other people into his stupid-"

"Rin," Chinen said, fingers curling around Rin's bicep to turn him around.

Staring up at Chinen, obviously confused, Rin frowned. "What is it?"

"He's not alone," Chinen said.

It was Rin's turn to be silent, then, and silent was what he remained as he followed Chinen outside to the car. Chinen didn't really know what to say and Rin was grateful, he supposed. Because he didn't trust himself to speak at all.

\+ + +

 

"Tired?"

Tezuka looked up; he hadn't been listening. "What?"

Kite's expression didn't change when he spoke again. "I said, are you tired?"

Sighing, Tezuka rotated his shoulder and shook his head. "I'm fine," he lied.

Shouldering his own bag, he bent to grip the handles of Tezuka's, not letting go when Tezuka shot him that familiar, stubborn look. "I'll carry this," he said.

"I've got it," Tezuka murmured, steadfastly holding on when Kite tugged a little. "You don't have to."

"I know I don't have to," Kite said, tugging hard enough to pull Tezuka a couple of steps in his direction. "You're tense; I can tell your shoulder hurts."

Tezuka didn't speak, simply stared at Kite with that inscrutable, distant expression that sometimes crossed his face, but Kite felt his grip loosen somewhat. "I don't mind, really."

Relenting, Tezuka stifled a yawn and stood closer to Kite when he handed off his bag. "It's not heavy," he said, as though wanting to let Kite know that he wasn't weak. Kite wisely chose not to respond and, instead, gazed out toward the beach, though it was not visible from where they were standing.

"It'll be good to see the ocean again."

Smiling faintly, Tezuka recognized the wistful nature of Kite's words. "You miss your home."

Shrugging, Kite laughed a little. "I don't pine for it." Silent for a moment, he was serious when he looked at Tezuka again. "The feeling that I get, when I'm here – near the ocean and this land and the people who live here – there's nothing like it."

"You must be lonely, then," Tezuka said. "Living so far away from something you love."

Kite's next words were cryptic, though his expression was not, and Tezuka's heart beat fast when Kite touched his arm briefly. "I used to."

It was constantly surprising to Tezuka – Kite's ability to make the world fall away with a look and a handful of words. The realization that they'd gone away together, to visit Kite's home, to visit his _family_ , was sobering. If they'd been casual before, they were no longer, and Tezuka wondered what the next few days would mean for their relationship. It made him nervous to consider the possibility that Kite's parents might not accept him. It was a premature sort of worry, he knew, given that he hadn't even mentioned Kite to his own family, but Tezuka had begun to think that – after this time together – he would be ready to do more than just mention Kite.

Glancing quickly at his watch, Kite frowned. "My parents will be ready for bed by the time we get there."

Frowning, too, Tezuka consulted his own watch. "Perhaps we should find a hotel tonight?"

Kite immediately shook his head. "Don't have enough money."

"I can pay for-" Tezuka began, but Kite only shook his head again.

"My mother would never let me hear the end of it."

He grinned at Tezuka. "It doesn't matter what time it is, her feelings would be hurt if I didn't come straight home the minute I get off the plane."

They were silent a moment and Tezuka turned his head to hide his amusement. Kite noticed, however, and leaned in close to poke Tezuka's arm.

"Hey. Are you laughing at me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tezuka said, pressing his lips tightly together and turning further away from Kite.

"You are," Kite said, lips close to Tezuka's neck. "What's so funny, anyway?"

Choking back laughter, Tezuka managed to keep his voice even, though he still could not meet Kite's eyes. "The hitman is a mama's boy."

Finally Tezuka looked at Kite and the expression on his face – his open-mouthed shock – got the better of him. He laughed, unable to help himself, and rested one hand on Kite's shoulder. "Come on, I'm only kidding," he finally said, laughter fading when Kite continued to stare at him. "Eishirou?"

"I can't believe it," Kite said, leaning in so close that his nose brushed Tezuka's. "You just got in a dig at me."

Lips pursed, amusement all but faded, Tezuka crossed both arms over his chest and wished he hadn't said a word.

"And it was a good one," Kite allowed, unwilling to let the moment go. "Does anyone else know you have a sense of humor?"

Ignoring Kite now, Tezuka glanced at his watch again. "They should be here soon, right?"

When Kite didn't answer, Tezuka frowned, prompted him without looking his way. "Eishirou?"

"Hey, Kunimitsu," Kite said, voice low, intimate.

Reluctantly - entirely unable to ignore Kite when he spoke his name that way – Tezuka slid Kite a quick, secret sort of glance. Kite's smile was slow, warm. Just for _him_. Despite his intentions to the contrary, Tezuka felt himself respond. His own smile was shy, hesitant, but returned all of the emotion that Kite offered him first.

His fingers brushed Kite's, quickly enough that it appeared entirely accidental, and he wondered if he'd ever find the nerve to touch Kite in his parents' home. Truthfully, Tezuka didn't think he'd be able to hold back, regardless of their surroundings.

Things had _changed_.

But then Kite's posture stiffened – straightened – and the moment was gone. "They're here," he murmured, shifting his grip on their bags and lifting his chin to greet his friends.

Tezuka turned, recognizing Kite's friends even after so much time had passed, and wondered precisely how much they knew of him. If they knew anything of him at all.

He hung back, watched the tall, forbidding looking man clasp Kite's forearm and manage what Tezuka supposed passed for a smile.

"It's been too long," he said, smile widening when Kite gripped his arm in return.

"Speak for yourself," the blonde muttered, glancing once at Tezuka before apparently deciding to ignore him altogether.

"Good to see you too, Rin," Kite said, voice weary.

"What happened to Hirakoba-kun?" Rin asked, sneer fading when Chinen released Kite to lay one hand on his shoulder.

"Don't, Rin," was all that he said and – surprisingly enough – Rin fell silent.

"Hiroshi," Kite said, stepping back to make room inside their circle for Tezuka. "You remember Tezuka Kunimitsu?"

Chinen bowed, all politeness, and Tezuka quickly followed suit.

"I do," he said. "Good to see you again, Tezuka."

Nobody mentioned the nature of his relationship with Kite and Tezuka was glad of it. While he was certain that it was no secret, just thinking about discussing something so personal with Kite's friends was too embarrassing to consider.

"How long will you be here?" Chinen asked, already turning toward the entrance and the parking area beyond.

"A few days," Kite said, hanging back to walk at Tezuka's side. "I promised Mother I'd visit and now seemed as good a time as any. Maybe we can get the gang together while I'm here."

"A reunion," Rin muttered. "How nice."

"Sure," Chinen said, patently ignoring Rin. "I work nights, but we'll figure something out."

"Rin, you look well," Kite said, tone almost snide, and Rin laughed.

"I sure do. Sucks to be you, huh?"

Chinen kept walking; so did they all.

"I'm not going to bite, you know," Kite told him idly, looking straight ahead with Tezuka just at his elbow. "Bait me if you like, I won't play this game with you."

"I guess not," Rin responded. "You've got a new _partner_ to play with."

Chinen held the door for Tezuka, who held it for Kite. Rin side-stepped to exit first, the look he gave Kite reminiscent of the look he used to give him when they were younger and more apt to bicker amongst themselves over nothing at all.

Kite let him pass, holding the door for an elderly woman who moved at a snail's pace. Chinen was halfway to the car and Tezuka followed.

"That's right I do," Kite said, nodding respectfully to the old woman and heading in the direction Chinen and Tezuka had gone. "Seems like you do, too."

"Like you have any idea what you're even talking about," Rin began, angry that Kite would not allow him under his skin.

Kite stopped walking then and, after a moment, Rin seemed to notice that Kite wasn't right behind him. He stopped, turned to face Kite. There, under the parking lights and the moon that reflected off of still-wet pavement from the day's earlier downpour, Kite stood – carrying two or three travel bags and wearing an expression that Rin hadn't seen on his face in a very long time. He looked weary. Disappointed. Rin _hated_ that expression on him.

"I know that every time we do _this_ , Hiroshi backs farther away. From both of us."

Rin paled, staring hard at Kite over the seven or eight feet that separated them. Kite's words – the meaning they held – was not lost on Rin.

"Why do you make him feel inconsequential? When you must know how much you mean to him."

Rin looked away first, embarrassed and horrified to realize that what Kite said was true. Even now, when he'd become so determined to show Chinen how important he was – how much Rin appreciated him and cared for him – it was only second nature to test each and every boundary he found.

Moving closer, Kite touched Rin's shoulder, caught and held his gaze. "I'm sorry, Rin, but you have to let it go." When Rin didn't answer, didn't move, Kite squeezed his shoulder once. "I'd take it all back if I could, but I can't."

Head bowed, Rin laughed. It was a hollow sort of sound. "You were always such an arrogant prick, Eishirou."

Kite nearly smiled, relenting when Rin reached over to take one of his bags. "We can be something else, you know," he said.

Rin shrugged, hefting Tezuka's bag in his hand, testing its weight so as to avoid having to let Kite too far into his thoughts. "I know," he returned. "I'm over it."

At Kite's raised eyebrow, Rin pursed his lips. " _Mostly_."

Moving forward again, side by side, Rin led Kite to the place Chinen had left the car.

"Hiroshi got a new car," he said conversationally.

"Oh yeah? What's it like?"

"It's a piece of shit," Rin told him. "Say something nice about it."

"I will," Kite assured him. "It actually runs?"

Rin snorted, nodding toward the car as it came into view. "Barely."

It began to rain again. A fine, cool mist in hot, heavy air.

"Seigaku's Tezuka," Rin said quietly. "Doesn't that just figure."

Kite glanced sideways at him. "He's not so bad. Say something nice to him."

Tipping his head back, Rin laughed – the mist felt good on his face.

"Welcome home, Eishirou."

 

\+ + +

 

Kite waved, though he had no idea if Chinen and Rin were looking back at him at all, and their taillights were an orange streak in his periphery when he led Tezuka up the flag way toward his house. The rain was intermittent and not really enough to cause any real discomfort, but Tezuka's hair was damp; Kite noticed when the houselights illuminated him in profile.

It was ten o'clock.

"This isn't the return I had in mind," he told Tezuka by way of apology.

"It's fine," Tezuka assured him, glancing nervously toward one of the long, dark front windows. The road leading up to Kite's house had been narrow and winding, the pavement cracked and flanked with drooping, overhanging trees.

"What's the matter?" Kite asked him, knocking sharply on his parents' front door.

Glancing around, Tezuka took in the sight of Kite's house – long, flat, comprised of wooden planks and a scalloped roof. There were several shrubs and large planters situated here and there and he realized that he was looking forward to surveying the grounds in the light of day. He felt reasonably certain that the gardens would be something beautiful to see, though why he thought so was completely unknown to him.

"It's not what I was expecting," he finally said, choosing not to elaborate. He knew that Kite would understand that his surprise was neither a bad thing nor a good one. It simply _was_.

Before Kite could answer, however, the front door opened and a tall, older woman peeked out. Her hair was pinned up tight in a knot at the back of her head and the glasses that perched low on the bridge of her nose glinted when she flipped a switch to flood the front walk with light.

"Eishirou? Why didn't you call? Your father and I were about to go to bed."

"I can leave," Kite said dryly. "Come back tomorrow when you're well-rested."

Clucking her tongue, she pushed back against the door and waved him in. "Get in here."

"I brought someone," Kite said, having the decency to sound sheepish with his mother standing in the doorway wearing her yukata.

Shielding her eyes from the light, she peered at Tezuka. "Huh. So you did. Come in anyway."

Tezuka followed Kite to stand just inside the door. Immediately toeing off his shoes, he watched Kite drop their bags onto the floor and wrap his arms around his mother. They embraced for a long moment, Kite Yoshi resting her head on her son's shoulder.

"You're late, you know," she admonished, stepping away to really look at him. "You were supposed to be here days ago."

Kite shrugged, taking off his own shoes and stuffing his feet into a pair of waiting slippers. When he moved to pick up their bags again Tezuka followed suit and, by this time, Kite's mother had turned her full attention to _him_.  
  
"Eishirou?" she prompted, smiling when Tezuka bowed deeply.

"Mother, meet Tezuka Kunimitsu."

"Kite-san," Tezuka murmured, still bowing, and she bowed acknowledgement before touching his elbow lightly.

"It's good to meet you, Tezuka-kun," she said, her smile genuine when he met her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't know you were coming, I haven't had a chance to make anything presentable for you."

"No, please," Tezuka said, embarrassed for her apology when it was he who had intruded. "I'll be fine."

"He'll stay with me," Kite said easily. "It's nothing, really."

Shocked, Tezuka felt as though his face was on fire and stared at Kite as though he'd sprouted an extra head. His assertion had been innocent enough, but Tezuka felt certain that his mother was shrewd enough to puzzle out the truth of their relationship.

"We're tired, too and will probably go right to bed," he told her. "But you can make it up to me tomorrow with breakfast."

Swatting Kite's behind, Kite-san huffed at him and shooed him toward the hallway. "Help Tezuka-kun get settled, then. I'm sure he'd like a bath."

"Where's Father?" Kite asked.

"Asleep in his armchair. I might leave him there all night, too," she said. "I'll put on some tea before I go to bed," she told Tezuka. "Please, make yourself at home."

When she left, Kite stood close to him in the foyer. Too close. Repressing a shiver, Tezuka turned his hand obligingly when Kite sought to press their palms together. Somewhere down the hallway, he could hear a television. The house was mostly dark.

"How about it, Tezuka-kun?" Kite murmured, nosing against his cheek. "You want a bath?"

Tezuka swallowed, feeling positively ashamed of himself. Here they were, in Kite's parents' house, and all that Tezuka wanted was to strip off his clothes and press himself to the warm, familiar length of Kite's body.

"Yes," he breathed, twining his fingers with Kite's and hoping his mother didn't return. "Do you?"

Kite's smile was indication enough that he wanted much, much more than a bath and when Tezuka ducked his head to hide his anticipation, Kite laughed quietly and tugged him toward the hallway. "This way," was all he would say. And Tezuka followed.

Kite's room was dark and the tiny lamp he switched on lent barely enough light to keep Tezuka from bumping into furniture. It was a strange feeling to realize that this was the room that Kite had grown up in – this was the room that he'd returned to after they'd lost to Seigaku all those years ago.

He was careful not to stare overlong at Kite's personal effects, not that there were many to speak of. The room was spare and meticulously arranged: futon, desk, short bookcases that were filled to capacity. There were no posters on the walls, nothing to indicate that he was into sports or girls or cars. There was a pair of double shoji-screen doors that led, presumably, into the rear lawn of the house. In the one windowsill were several tiny plants.

Dropping their bags near the doors, Kite stretched, yawning when he rotated his shoulders. Turning, he slid the closet door open and took out two yukata – one red and one purple – and lay them on the futon.

"I'll show you where the bathroom is. You can go first," Kite said, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening the tie he'd been yearning to take off all evening.

Tezuka frowned, but he did not object. He'd assumed that they would bathe together, though he couldn't have said why. He nodded, turning away to kneel beside his bag and find the items he needed to make ready for bed. The day's events were catching up with him and despite feeling out of his element and somewhat restless, Tezuka had begun to grow weary. His shoulders were tense and aching and his elbow throbbed.

"Your Mother seems very nice," he said, for lack of anything else to say.

"She's going to love you," Kite said, finding his own toothbrush and travel case that contained the toiletries he and Tezuka would share in the bath.

"Does she know?" Tezuka asked, a bit shy to ask, but unable to help himself. "About us?"

Kite's fingertips were brief at the back of his neck. "She knew, Kunimitsu. The minute she saw us, she knew."

Blushing, Tezuka nodded again and retrieved the red yukata from the futon, accurately assuming that Kite would prefer the purple.

The hallway was dark and Kite did not turn on any lights. The bathroom was small and it was only after he'd closed the door that he turned on the light inside.

The bathtub was large enough for two people; Tezuka immediately looked away. Kite bent to fill the tub and waved in the direction of the shower. "Go ahead. I'll get this ready."

Hesitating only a moment, Tezuka began to remove his clothing, wishing he'd done so in Kite's bathroom. He folded each article carefully, taking off his glasses and laying them on the small counter top opposite the tub. Inside Kite's travel case was the sandalwood soap and herbal shampoo he favored. Lips pursed, Tezuka wondered where he was keeping the pomade, comb and hair spritz necessary to maintain his hairstyle.

It was heaven to step under the shower spray, to feel the hot water against his neck and shoulders. He closed his eyes, letting out the breath he felt he'd been holding for hours, and hoped he could stay awake long enough to truly enjoy a soak in the tub. Kite was behind him quickly enough, helping to slick his hair and run his hands down the length of Tezuka's back.

"Feel good?" he asked and Tezuka grunted in response.

He began to massage Tezuka's shoulders, humming his pleasure when Tezuka bowed his head in acceptance. After a few moments, he murmured, "I thought you said I could go first."

Kite faltered, but only for a second. "Do you want me to leave?""

Tezuka smiled, though Kite couldn't see him. "No," he said. "Stay."

Stepping closer, Kite ran his hands over Tezuka's shoulders and down his arms. Embracing him from behind, he held him close, rested his head against Tezuka's shoulder and turned his head to press a kiss to the back of Tezuka's neck. "I'm glad you're here," he said honestly, simply.

Tezuka was still against him. It was odd to him, this closeness that had somehow become so natural between them. He nodded, eyes closed against the shower spray, and braced one hand on the wall when Kite moved away. He could hear him moving behind him, bending to retrieve the shampoo, uncapping it. He tipped his head back, accommodating when Kite began to wash his hair, and sighed.

"You'll be asleep before I can pull the blankets up," Kite predicted, plucking the showerhead away from the wall to rinse the shampoo from Tezuka's hair.

Tezuka couldn't deny it, his muscles already beginning to loosen. "Feels good," he murmured, slicking his hair back and turning to face Kite. Wiping water away from his eyes, he pressed one hand to Kite's chest and surprised himself to realize that – even as tired as he was – Kite's proximity affected him intensely.

Without any true conscious thought, he slid his hand up to hook his arm around Kite's neck. His kiss was slow, gentle. The water was warm and soothing against his back when Kite got one arm around his waist. So little contact with so little urgency behind it, but it was more than enough.

"Now you," Tezuka murmured, lips slick and wet against Kite's before he nudged Kite toward the water.

He returned the favor, washing Kite's hair and lingering over the pressure points in his neck and the back of his head, gratified when Kite sighed audibly. He helped to rinse Kite's hair, sucking in a breath when he pressed too close and the slippery curve of Kite's bottom nudged his groin. Within seconds he was fully erect and he took a step back in the hopes that Kite wouldn't notice.

"You ready to get in the tub?" Kite asked, wiping his eyes and preparing to turn around. Tezuka stopped him, pressing one hand between Kite's shoulder blades. When Kite didn't resist, simply faced away from him as Tezuka seemed to want him to do, it was difficult for Tezuka to remember that he was supposed to be hiding his reaction.

Without saying a word, he stepped close to Kite again, hands light at his waist when he pressed his hips snug to Kite's bottom. They were still, the both of them, and Kite exhaled slowly. Taking Tezuka's hands, he wrapped them around his waist – forcing an embrace – and arched his back just enough to get Tezuka's attention.

It worked. Tensing against him, Tezuka held him tightly, his lips to Kite's shoulder. "Sorry," he murmured, feeling as though he'd allowed his impromptu desire to ruin the intimacy between them.

"Sorry?" Kite repeated, reaching back to touch Tezuka's hip.

But Tezuka's mouth was hot at his shoulder and, despite his intentions to the contrary, he rubbed against Kite – restless. The soft sound he muffled against Kite's skin was enticement enough.

"You want me?" he asked, knowing that Tezuka would never simply say _yes_.

He gripped the showerhead, glanced over his shoulder at Tezuka – the invitation was clear. "Go ahead."

Tezuka stared, unable to believe that Kite could so casually offer himself in a situation like this. It was the first time he'd ever done so and to say it so casually – as if it were nothing – made Tezuka unsure as to how he should react.

Reaching out, he touched the small of Kite's back, the swell of his buttocks, reaching around to wrap his hand around Kite's dick. He was hard, too, and grunted when Tezuka squeezed him.

"It won't take much," he murmured. " _Do it_."

Teeth creasing his bottom lip, Tezuka pressed closer, nudging between Kite's buttocks with the tip of his cock and gasping when Kite arched his back again.

"You don't mind?" he asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his lips. The look Kite gave him, glancing over his shoulder, was reassurance enough. That he'd had to _ask_ had clearly given Kite pause, though Tezuka told himself he'd think about that later. Much later.

For now, it was all he could do to find the bottle of oil in Kite's travel bag, uncap it with hesitant fingers and coat the palm of his hand. He rubbed his cock against the back of Kite's thigh and was unable to prevent the soft sound he made. His hands were shaking – he was excited.

With one hand at the back of Kite's thigh, Tezuka nudged him forward, breath quickening when Kite lifted one leg to brace his foot on the tub. "There," he said, his voice rough when Tezuka's fingers slipped between his buttocks.

He touched Kite hesitantly, eager and yet still feeling as though he needed to hold back. His fingers were slippery, pressing blunt and so carefully, and he groaned under his breath when he got that first finger inside. Kite was hot, _tight_. Tezuka's dick jerked, the tip slippery with his own fluid. He'd never – ever – been so close to orgasm without having been at all stimulated by another person.

"Eishirou," was all he could manage, leaning in to rest his forehead against Kite's neck. He was panting, his dick so hard that it ached, and he had two fingers inside Kite as far as they would go. "Has it...," he hesitated, wording his question carefully. "Has it been very long since the last time...?"

Kite laughed, a short, sharp sound that quickly became a low moan when Tezuka found some sort of rhythm and began to finger him slowly, steadily. "A while," he said, arching to press back against Tezuka's hand. "It's okay," he said, head bowed. "I want it."

Swallowing hard, Tezuka moved that much closer until his belly was flush against Kite's back. "Arch your back," he said, one arm snug around Kite's waist to steady himself when he got into position.

Kite obeyed, one hand gripping the showerhead while covering Tezuka's hand with the other. Tezuka closed his eyes when he pressed forward, certain that the picture Kite made – so ready, so receptive – would be enough to push him over the edge the very minute he managed to get inside him.

His cock was slick and went in easily and Kite grew very, very still when Tezuka was all the way inside him. Repressing a shiver, he held fast to Kite and flexed his hips to test his resistance. Kite moaned, turning his head to muffle his voice against his arm, and Tezuka stroked his belly.

"Is this all right?" he asked, voice strained. If Kite moved a single muscle, Tezuka _knew_ that he would come. "It doesn't hurt?"

"It does," Kite hissed, sliding his foot along the edge of the bathtub. "But you feel good."

Not 'it'. ' _You_ '.

Tezuka squeezed his eyes closed tightly. "I'm so close," he whispered, ashamed for being unable to give Kite the sort of pleasure that Kite so often gave to him. "Please don't move."

"I want you to come," Kite said, rubbing his balls with the flat of his hand when Tezuka began to move behind him. "Come inside me," he murmured.

Tezuka moaned, fingertips digging into Kite's side. "Stop," he warned. "I'll come."

"Harder," Kite grunted, gripping his cock to jerk himself. "I _want_ you to come," he said again.

"Too soon," Tezuka managed, holding on tight and trying to convince himself that his every thrust into Kite was not completely audible to whomever might be listening. His hips smacked Kite's bottom – hard, purposeful – and try as he might, Tezuka could not pretend that his control was not slipping.

Touching Kite's wrist, curling his fingers around it and nosing into the back of his hair, Tezuka moaned again when Kite began to jerk his cock tighter, faster.

"Eishirou," he said again, belly tightening with his imminent orgasm. "I'm sorry, I can't..."

"Come," Kite said gruffly and Tezuka did. For weightless, timeless moments he couldn't move, couldn't breathe and was only dimly aware of Kite tightening around him to spill his release through his own fingers.

Steam rose from the bath and Tezuka stared at the welcoming, soothing tub of water even when Kite shifted, moved to turn and pull Tezuka into his arms. He'd turned off the shower spray and his skin was slippery and cool.

With his mouth pressed to Kite's neck, Tezuka clung to him the way he couldn't remember ever holding on to anyone else. He murmured to Kite, his lips moving almost soundlessly against his skin and he closed his eyes. He was tired – so, so tired – but the hot water beckoned.

He wrapped both arms around Kite's back and swallowed the words that had been hovering just on his lips all night long.

 _I love you. Eishirou_.


	19. Letting the cables sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

The room looked different in the bright light of day. Smaller. Strangely enough, it reminded Tezuka of his own room – spare, succinct, austere. Kite's room, however, possessed the quirky little things that made it personal where Tezuka's did not. Brightly colored origami birds strung together to hang in the corner, a purple rug on the floor, the stack of magazines lined neatly along a tiny bookshelf, sandwiched between classic literature and what looked like pulp fiction. There were potted plants along the windowsill with tiny plastic pandas on either side. A poster of an American comic book hero that Tezuka recognized but could not name.

When he moved to rise from the bed, pajamas twisted uncomfortably, he glanced around for his bag. Relieved to find it against the wall with Kite's, he was quick to rummage through it for a t-shirt and pair of shorts. It occurred to him that he would need to do laundry soon as he'd only packed enough clothes to visit Oishi and attend Yumiko-san's engagement party. He smiled to notice the full-length mirror on the back of Kite's closet door; it was often easy to forget how vain he could be.

Walking slowly in the hallway, he listened for the sound of Kite's voice, heard him speaking to his mother and tried to quell the butterflies that took flight in his belly. He was nervous and couldn't pretend otherwise. So afraid that Kite's family would not accept him – accept _them_. Where would such an occurrence leave their relationship? Did Kite value him enough to choose him, should it come to that?

A bird's manic squawking startled him then, the sound he made just loud enough to bring Kite into the hallway after him.

"I didn't know you were up," he said, expression neutral when he swept Tezuka with a cursory glance.

Folding his arms over his chest, Tezuka mumbled, "I didn't intend to lie in bed all morning." The accusation was there in his voice, that Kite should have awakened him in order to save him the embarrassment of stumbling to the breakfast table with tousled hair and sleepy eyes. That Kite recognized it was evident in the smile he offered Tezuka.

"I forgot what a grouch you were in the morning," he said, reaching for Tezuka's hand, but not insisting when Tezuka did not allow it. "Did Mika wake you?"

Following him into the small kitchen, Tezuka half-bowed to Kite's mother on his way past the table, surprised and distracted to notice the pretty young woman busy sketching at the table. She was tall, willowy with bobbed hair and glasses. Her demeanor wasn't half so severe as the expression on her face and when she glanced up, tucking her hair behind one ear to smile at Tezuka – she looked so much like Kite that Tezuka felt the tips of his ears warm.

"Tezuka-kun," she said, voice low and confident and almost flirty enough to make Tezuka blush. "Welcome."

Lips pursed, Kite's mother wiped her hands on a towel and moved to set bowls of broth on the table. "Move those crayons off the table and eat, young lady." But then she smiled warmly at Tezuka, fingertips light at his elbow when she gestured to the table. "Please, be comfortable, Tezuka-kun."

"Ah, thank you," he said, bowing again before taking a seat next to Kite's sister. "You must be Mika."

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "That would be the _bird_."

At Tezuka's wide-eyed expression, she laughed and swept the markers and sketchbook off the table. "I'm Hana."

The bird squawked again, wings flapping in excitement or vexation – Tezuka wasn't sure. Mostly red, with splashes of yellow, blue and green, it quieted easily enough when Kite leaned in close.

"Shhh, pretty thing," he murmured. "Don't fret." The kissing and humming noises that followed caused Tezuka to shift uncomfortably in his seat, though Kite seemed to feel no humiliation for baby-talking to a bird in clear earshot of the rest of them. "Be a good girl and daddy will give you some yummy mango, hm?"

"You're making me sick," Hana said, narrowing her eyes at Kite and sliding a bowl close to her. "You and that bird."

Kite straightened then, all dignity when he took his place at Tezuka's side. "Hm," he sniffed, stirring the onion in his soup. "Jealous that she loves me and not you?"

"Of course I am," she agreed amiably. "That's why I tried to stuff her in my EZ Bake Oven once."

Kite frowned. "I thought we agreed never to talk about that."

"Why don't you take her home with you, Eishi-nii? She pines for you, do you know?"

"I can't," Kite responded. "I'm not home often and she would be lonely."

"The solution would be to visit more often," Kite's mother said. "Ne, Eishirou?"

"Yes, Mother," he answered dutifully, nudging Tezuka's foot with his own.

Tezuka glanced at him quickly, covertly, and Kite offered him a secret sort of smile before turning his attention to his breakfast.

"It's a surprise to have you as our guest, Tezuka-kun," Kite-san went on. "When I last spoke to Kite, I was under the impression he'd be coming alone."

"I've inconvenienced you," he began awkwardly. "I'm very sorry."

"Of course you haven't," she was quick to assure him, replacing the pickled radish he'd already eaten. "Ei-chan was so sad when we spoke that I was certain he'd be coming home for a nice, long vacation, that's all."

"Mother," Kite warned, staring at her from over the lenses of his glasses.

"Fine, fine," she relented, spooning natto onto her rice. "I'm just glad to have you. _Both_ of you," she emphasized.

"Where's the old man?" Hana asked, having already made short work of her soup and moving on to the rolled omelet.

"Where else?" Kite-san answered. "I expect he'll show up right before dinner, empty handed and full of fish stories." She looked at Kite then. "You and Tezuka-kun will be here for dinner, won't you, Eishirou?"

Kite shrugged, considering. "Not sure. Tezuka and I have to leave day after tomorrow and I wanted to see the guys before then."

Hana and Kite-san exchanged a look and the conversation died.

"What?" Kite demanded, glancing between the two of them. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," they said in unison, sharing another guilty look.

"You're up to something," Kite said. "What's going on?"

Kite-san rose then, breakfast effectively dismantled. "Suspicious," she admonished. "It's nothing. I hope you boys have a good time."

"No drinking and carrying on in public," Hana said, smiling sweetly.

"I'll see what I can do," Kite deadpanned. "Tezuka likes to party."

Hana snorted. Tezuka kicked Kite's foot under the table.

But then Kite was smiling at him – focused and attentive even with his mother and sister present. There was no mistaking the regard in which he held Tezuka. "Right, Kuni-chan?" he murmured softly.

Tezuka blushed, ducking his head to sip unobtrusively at his soup. But still he nodded, however slightly. "Aa."

 

* * * 

 

Rin's dilemma, that particular morning, came in the form of a most unwelcome set of choices. Chinen had no air-conditioning; it was stifling hot. He had no curtains; it was ridiculously bright outside. Beneath the sheets, Rin sweated freely and Chinen was a seven-foot-tall furnace in the bed beside him. If he pressed closer, he could keep the sunlight at bay at least until he was ready to admit defeat and tumble out of bed. Of course, if he did so, he'd become so miserably hot that faking sleep would no longer be an option. If he kicked the blankets off and shoved Chinen away, he'd be cooler, but then the light would disturb the cocoon of sleep he'd so carefully constructed during the night. Flopping onto his belly and groaning into his pillow, he cursed the hateful sun and the blazing heat that accompanied it.

"We should get up anyway," Chinen murmured, already awake and scrunched into the six or seven inches of space Rin afforded him.

"You're hot," was all that Rin would say, lips pressed into the pillow to muffle his voice.

"Thank you," Chinen returned politely, swinging long legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself upright. He rubbed the back of his head, mattress creaking beneath him.

Slapping blindly at him, Rin groaned again, on the verge of a mini-tantrum. "Not that kind of hot, idiot. And stop shaking the bed."

Chinen grunted, vertebra popping when he stood to stretch. "I'll sleep on the sofa," he said. His bare feet slapped the floor, signifying his departure, and Rin lifted his head from the pillow.

"Hiroshi."

Pausing in the doorway, Chinen turned his head in profile. He didn't look at Rin.

"Don't sleep on the sofa," Rin said quietly.

The barest curve of Chinen's smile was visible before he turned away again. "I'll make breakfast."

Rolling to his back, Rin flung one arm over his eyes and kicked at the sheets until they slid from the bed and onto the floor. He was going to have to get a job or something; Chinen's tiny house was like a volcano.

"Hiroshi?" he called out. The refrigerator door opened and shut and Chinen hummed his response.

"Can we get a fan or something? It's a million degrees in here."

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered. "I'll see what I can do."

Frowning, Rin scratched his belly, shifting in the bed and sliding his feet up to bend his knees. The scratching slowed to a soft, absent stroking which then became a prelude to something else entirely. His cock twitched beneath the thin, worn shorts he wore and he glanced toward the empty doorway and rubbed himself with the flat of one hand. Despite their recently-revealed mutual feelings, Rin was beginning to wonder if Chinen was ever going to give him any. Every day, Rin awoke with a dick like a battering ram and every day, Chinen made breakfast. Last week, Chinen had asked Rin what he'd like for breakfast and while it had been on the tip of Rin's tongue to say 'how 'bout some _sausage_?' he'd chickened out at the last moment and asked for toast instead. Disgusted with himself, he'd locked himself in the bathroom, turned on the water and jerked his dick for five solid minutes before emerging to a plateful of hot, buttered toast and fresh fruit.

"Hiroshi?" he called again, fingers already slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts.

"Hm?" Chinen responded, clattering pans happily. "What do you need, Rin?"

Rin grew still, progress halted, dick hard and trapped inside his shorts. What did he _need_? He needed to get _laid_. He needed to rub his dick on something other than the palm of his own hand. He needed Chinen to roll him over and mount up, already. How fair was it that Tezuka Kunimitsu – ice bitch extraordinaire – was probably seeing more action that Rin was? How was it even in the realm of possibilities?

Well, no more, Rin decided. Enough was enough. He would take what was rightfully his no matter how humiliating it turned out to be. What place did shame have in his life when he was whacking off three and four times a day? None whatsoever.

He slid out of bed, grimacing when his shorts wedged firmly in the crack of his ass, and kicked the blankets out of his way. Into the kitchen he strode, purposeful and determined. That his shorts were tented comically was of no consequence to him. That he couldn't swagger as he would have liked due to the uncomfortable angle of his cock was of even less consequence. The look on Chinen's face as he crossed the floor was indication enough that he'd noticed Rin's state of discomfort and when Rin finally stood before him, Chinen's gaze dropped to the vicinity of Rin's shorts and stayed there.

"Rin...," he began, unable to offer much more. Staring up at him defiantly, Rin dropped to his knees.

"You really want to know what I need?" he asked, nosing against Chinen's belly when he jerked his shorts down to about mid-thigh.

Chinen nodded, wobbly and wide-eyed and as stiff as a board.

"This," Rin said, gripping the base of Chinen's cock and taking every single inch past his lips and down his throat. Chinen gasped. His knees buckled and he grabbed at the counter behind him with one hand while he fisted the other in Rin's sleep-tousled hair.

Rin hummed an acknowledgement, but didn't stop. Instead, he inched closer to squeeze Chinen's ass, moaning deep in his throat when his cock jerked to leak clear, thin fluid over his tongue. His breath hitched, he made a choking sound and the sound of his knuckles cracking when he gripped the edge of the counter hard was a warning that came just a split second too late. Rin pulled back, one eye closed and preparing to turn his head when Chinen lost all control of himself. Once, twice and third time was the charm when he shot his release over Rin's jaw and onto his neck. Clapping a hand over his mouth, the look in his eyes was all the apology he seemed able to offer.

Rin wiped his face with the back of his hand and laughed. Having made no effort to rise to his feet, he spread his knees wider and rubbed his dick with the flat of one hand. "Guess you needed that, too, ne?"

Finally, Chinen lowered his hand. His expression shifted, his eyes narrowed, and Rin began to think perhaps he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have. Slowly, he hitched his shorts back up, wincing when the stretched elastic brushed his cock. Without a word, he held out a hand to Rin.

"Are you mad?" Rin asked, hesitant when he gripped Chinen's hand. Silent still, Chinen tugged him to his feet, stepping close to shorten the distance between them. He didn't look mad, but neither did he look like a guy who'd just been given a pretty damned good blowjob – even if it _hadn't_ lasted very long.

Poised to inform him precisely what an ungrateful bastard he was, Rin squeaked in surprise when Chinen bent to sweep him off of his feet. Over Chinen's shoulder and knowing he should at least make an attempt at reclaiming his dignity, Rin found that he could only laugh, instead. He smacked Chinen's ass, laughing harder when Chinen's grip on his thighs tightened.

When Chinen slammed the bedroom door behind them, Rin knew that it wasn't anger he was feeling. It made him feel pretty good, knowing that he hadn't lost his touch.

 

* * *

 

Okinawa wasn't what Tezuka had imagined. The land on which Kite's house was situated seemed forgotten – tucked away in some little natural corner while what passed for the metropolitan area spread farther and farther to cover the island from one side to the other. It was strange to see rocky dunes and stretches of beach only a few hundred yards away from hotels and restaurants and bus lines. Certain parts of the area put Tezuka in mind of a resort. Kite had laughed when he'd said so, just as he'd laughed when Tezuka had asked if the entire island were as isolated as some of the houses they'd passed.

It made him smile, to think of what his friends might say if they'd been present. "At least there's a Starbucks," Ryoma would say. Atobe would sniff and trifle with the cuffs of his shirt. "Starbucks is _so_ 2004\. And you don't even drink coffee."

"...ne, Tezuka?" Kite said, bending to peer closely at him.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, wondering if his expression gave away the direction of his thoughts. "I wasn't listening."

Kite shrugged, appearing unperturbed when he tucked his hands into his pockets. "I asked if you were having an all right time."

"Of course," he said. "I-"

Catching himself at the last moment, he offered Kite a stiff, awkward smile and looked out toward the scruffy dune just ahead. 'I'm with you', he'd almost said. Even now, he was hesitant when it came to being too free with his feelings. Kite never leaned too far one way or another – he was neither unnecessarily demonstrative nor too emotionally detached – and so his level of comfort was hard to truly determine. It was ridiculous, Tezuka knew, to be so hyper-aware of something that was supposed to come naturally, but he couldn't change who he was. Not at so quickly a rate, in any event.

Kite didn't push, though, and allowed Tezuka his silence as they walked along together. Sluggish and content after the lunch they'd shared downtown, Tezuka found that having Kite by his side while he retreated into the furthest recesses of his very analytical mind felt _good_.

There was so much to consider – remember – that Tezuka felt certain they could have walked for miles without his ever saying a single word. He thought about the way Kite had been last night: completely in charge of himself and his surroundings and yet so quick to offer Tezuka a submission that seemed almost out of character. His actions, his assurances indicated otherwise and Tezuka couldn't have said if his ease in reversal were pleasing or frightening. He thought about Kite's family and how easy they were with each other. There had been little formality to observe and while Kite hadn't gone out of his way to make sure everyone knew they were sleeping together, neither had his demeanor toward Tezuka cooled at all.

The way Kite had smiled at him that morning over breakfast, and the emotion that such an expression had roused in Tezuka was simply another indication of what they'd become. Just one emotion, at once simple and so complex that he barely knew his own mind, Tezuka could not deny what was. All that remained, to prove to himself that what they had was the real thing, was to tell Kite. And _that_ scared the hell out of him.

"Do you like it, then?" Kite asked. "Here, I mean."

He stopped walking then, the both of them balanced atop the dune, staring out at the ocean in the distance. Tezuka glanced at him sideways, taking in the familiar, fine profile and the way he avoided looking at Tezuka until he'd received some hint that his scrutiny would be welcome. Tezuka understood what he was getting at. This was Kite's home, it was important to him, and he wanted Tezuka to find as much to love about it as _he_ always had.

"I do," Tezuka answered, standing close to brush the back of his hand against Kite's. "It's not what I imagined. It was bright and busy in the city, but here..."

He paused for a moment, considering. "Here it's so peaceful and still."

"The lights go down, here. Everything sleeps," Kite said. He looked at Tezuka then, loosely twining their fingers. "Do you like it enough to come back again sometime?"

Catching his fingers in a tighter grip, Tezuka arched a brow. "With you?"

An _almost_ smile; Tezuka had seen its shadow. But then he only continue to stare at Tezuka, head tilted. "Yes, with me."

Ducking his head, Tezuka toed at a few pebbles and shrugged lightly. He did not, however, release Kite's hand. "If you wanted me to."

Even as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"What about what you want?" Kite asked. "I'm asking you if want to be with me. Long enough to make this trip again."

"Christmas will be here soon enough," Tezuka murmured. "It's not so far away-"

"Tezuka," Kite managed, jaw tight. He gripped Tezuka's shoulders, brought him closer than before. "You know what I'm trying to say. Stop pretending that you don't."

"If I come here again, people will know. It won't be difficult to figure out."

"So it won't," Kite agreed. "My question remains unchanged."

That feeling – the one he'd experienced the night before when Kite had pulled him close to wrap his arms snugly about him – was there again. Sharp and real and full. Why was it so hard to simply _say it_?

He nodded, kept on nodding, when he rested both hands on Kite's hips and leaned into him. Lips pressed to Kite's neck, Tezuka closed his eyes. The wind carried the scent of the sea, not as far away as Tezuka had imagined it would be. Kite was a warm, welcome solidity against him.

"Yes," he finally said. "I'll come back with you."

It wasn't a declaration – not by a long shot – but it was the best that Tezuka could do. He hoped that Kite would understand. When he nosed against Tezuka's cheek, lips warm when they brushed the corner of his mouth, it seemed that he did. With one hand firm at Tezuka's back and the other inching into the back of Tezuka's hair, Kite kissed him slowly. He tilted his head, breath warm when he coaxed Tezuka forward. He led him as he always seemed to lead him: sure and safe and masterful. To follow such a lead had only become second nature.

"Kunimitsu," he murmured against Tezuka's lips, hugging him tight when he pressed his mouth to Tezuka's. This time, for the first time, Tezuka sensed that Kite held something back – some part of himself that was uncertain. Fingers tightening at Kite's hips, Tezuka took the next kiss, unwilling to wait until Kite offered it to him. Like the night before, Kite relinquished control easily and Tezuka leaned in closer, taking over, crushing Kite's lips beneath his own. There was no power struggle between them when it came to this sort of intimacy. Somehow, Tezuka needed to acknowledge it with something more monumental than a simple kiss.

Kite's mobile vibrated then, and Tezuka stepped back a little, breathless and out of sorts but needing the sudden space between them. Reality had intruded; the spell had been broken. The moment was lost.

Kite cursed under his breath and slipped his phone out of his pocket. "This better be good," he warned.

Tezuka turned away, both arms wrapped around himself as he watched the sun begin to sink below the horizon.

"Oh, right," Kite was saying. "Sure, we can just meet you there."

After a few moments, Kite tucked his phone back into his pocket and held out a hand to Tezuka. "Ready?"

It would be dark soon. Tezuka took Kite's hand and squeezed gently, as though nothing had passed between them. "Where are we going?"

"Chinen's," Kite said, guiding Tezuka away from the hill, following his example. "You don't mind?"

Tezuka fell silent, remembering Fuji's party with no small amount of embarrassment. "No," he finally said, Kite's fingers wedged firmly between his own. "I don't mind."

 

* * *

 

It had been, Tezuka surmised, roughly two hours since they'd arrived at Chinen's house. Contrary to his expectations, no one was drunk, no fistfights had broken out and Rin had been pleasant to him throughout.

They'd played Mahjong, had tea and ramen, and had talked about their recent goings-on. Tezuka did not miss, however, that no one seemed interested in discussing the future. Chinen and Rin seemed closer than friends, but did not let on as to the nature of their relationship. Kite seemed disinterested, but Tezuka suspected that he was more than a little curious. It was one of his best tactics when it came to gathering sensitive information: feigning disinterest.

Tanishi had made an appearance, but had left right after the first hand they'd played or he'd have risked being late for work. Kai called soon after, promising to make an appearance before Kite turned into a pumpkin.

Presently, Tezuka sat next to Kite on Chinen's tiny sofa and shifted uncomfortably. Having spent the day sightseeing with Kite with little surcease, he'd begun to grow tired. He muffled a yawn and leaned forward to pour himself more tea. Chinen made rather wonderful tea.

"Tired?" Kite asked, rubbing the side of Tezuka's leg absently. "We can go if you like."

His solicitous touch had not gone unnoticed by Rin, who looked pointedly away. Offering Kite a small smile, Tezuka shook his head and sipped from his cup.

"I'm fine. I know you want to see Kai."

Rin snorted, adding more sugar to his tea and resting one elbow on the small card table. "I wouldn't hang around just for him, Eishirou. He's busy these days, if you know what I mean."

Stepping over Rin to join them at the table again, Chinen took his place beside him and began to box up the game. "He's got a new girl," he supplied helpfully.

Kite laughed. "Again? How many does that make this year? Ten? Fifteen?"

Chinen shrugged. "He seems serious about this one. He doesn't talk about her much and gets mad when we tease him about it."

"So what's she like?" Kite asked.

"No idea," Rin answered, slurping his tea when he got to the bottom of the cup. "We've never met her."

"Interesting," Kite finally said. "Perhaps we'll all be sitting here next year, about to attend a wedding."

"If he doesn't knock her up before then," Rin muttered.

Chinen smiled a little and tugged a strand of Rin's hair. "That's not so bad, is it? We'd be uncles or something."

Rin snorted. "I'm not old enough for that, thank you very much."

Chinen laughed then, and reached over Rin to stack cups and small plates. "Looks like we're calling it a night, then."

Tezuka stood to gather a stack of cups. "I'll help you," he offered, earning one of Chinen's rare smiles.

Rin dug into his pocket, rolling to all fours and climbing to his feet. "I need a cigarette."

"I thought you quit," Kite and Chinen spoke up in unison, glancing balefully at one another after.

"Who are you, my mother?" he said, heading toward the bedroom where he kept his personal effects.

Chinen shook his head, but couldn't conceal his indulgent expression when he snuck a glance at Rin's retreating figure. Kite followed, hands in his pockets and whistling to himself.

Tezuka rinsed dishes and set them in Chinen's sink. He didn't look up. "Thank you for inviting us," he said.

"No problem," Chinen said, tidying the counters while Tezuka worked. "I'm glad we got a chance to meet you."

"I'm not sure Hirakoba feels similarly."

Chinen shrugged, pulling a dented stool up to the counter. "Don't take it personally."

"Isn't it personal?" Tezuka asked.

Smiling, but finding no real humor in the situation, he draped himself over the stool to lean on the counter. Tezuka couldn't remember the last time he'd been close to someone so tall.

"Sure, it's personal between him and Kite. But not between him and _you_. Get it?"

Tezuka shook his head. "He doesn't like me at all."

"He's just hurt, that's all. It's hard to watch someone else steal away the one you love."

Something in his words, in the tone of his voice, stilled Tezuka's hands and he looked up, seeing something in Chinen that he hadn't seen before. "Most people wouldn't be so forgiving," he ventured.

"Yeah, well," Chinen began. "Most people don't know what it's like to love someone as much I do."

Tezuka was silent, pensive. He looked down at his hands, resting on the sink's edge, and thought of Kite – walking at his side, protecting him in the most unspoken, important ways, caring for him to an extent that no one else seemed willing. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he _did_. He knew what it was like to love someone that much. But he couldn't give those words to Chinen – not when he hadn't given them to Kite.

He looked up, his mind clear now when it hadn't been before, and Chinen merely smiled at him. "Excuse me," he began. "I think the cat's still outside. I need to find her."

He flipped on an outside light and closed the door behind him. Tezuka turned toward the bedroom, wanting to get Kite alone, wanting to take him away someplace where no one would overhear the things he wanted to say – _needed_ to say.

It was quiet at the back of the small house and there were no lights on to lead the way. He felt along the wall, footsteps light, until he saw him. Saw them. Before the window, nothing more than two silhouettes that seemed to merge one into the other, were Kite and Rin.

With his arms around Rin, Kite could rest his chin atop Rin's head to hold him close. Rin clung – even in the darkness Tezuka could see just how tightly he clung – and he took a deep, shaky breath. "It doesn't matter," he said, voice quiet. "I love you, Eishirou."

Tezuka froze, rooted just where he stood. He felt as though his heart would stop.

"Yeah," Kite said, pressing a kiss to the top of Rin's head. "Me too." And then, as though once hadn't been enough, he said it again. " _Me too_."

Turning away, making his way blindly down the hallway, Tezuka crossed the room and slipped outside soundlessly. He had no car, no real grasp of where he was going and absolutely no intention of returning to Kite's house to retrieve his belongings. Tezuka knew that he had to leave _now_. Had to get out of there before he completely fell apart. He could do that on the plane. Alone.

 

* * *

 

Rin pulled away first, ready at last, and shoved playfully at Kite's chest. "Asshole. Stop trying to take advantage of me in the dark."

Kite snorted, feeling along the wall for the light switch. "You probably unscrewed all the light bulbs yourself."

"You wish," Rin returned, bending to rifle through Chinen's discarded jeans for his missing cigarettes. "Score, found 'em."

"Where were they?" Kite asked.

"In Hiroshi's pocket. He must've been hiding them from me. Control freak."

"Hey, Rin," Kite called, halting Rin just in the doorway. "This is good, right? You and me?"

Rin smiled, though Kite couldn't see it. "Dummy. We'll always be together. All of us. Remember? One for all and all for one?"

Kite laughed, remembering their childish passion and determination. "I don't remember ever saying that."

Rin laughed, too. "Maybe not, but you meant it."

Kite couldn't argue with that. Whether they ever spoke of it or not, they were brothers. They always would be. Finally feeling as though everything were settled, Kite followed Rin back into the kitchen.

"Where'd they go?" Rin asked, looking around. "You don't think they ran off together, do you?"

Kite laughed. "Highly unlikely."

"Yeah, tell me about it. No way would he run out on me after this morning," Rin muttered around his cigarette. He lit it, tossing the matches on the table and winking at Kite. "I'm not that easy to forget."

"Maybe they went outside," Kite said, opening the door to peer outside. After a moment, Chinen appeared with a mangy cat. Kite took a step back. "That thing get run over or something?"

"What?" Chinen asked, rubbing the top of the cat's head with his chin. "She's fine. She was napping on the hood of the car."

Cat forgotten, Kite glanced around again. "Where's Tezuka?"

Chinen shook his head in confusion. "He was just inside. He was in the kitchen when I went outside to get the cat."

"Maybe he's in the bathroom," Rin suggested, but Kite was quick to shake his head.

"No, I'd have heard him..."

He trailed off there, paling. "Oh _fuck_."

"What?" Chinen asked, catching the look that passed between Rin and Kite. "What are you talking about?"

"You think he saw us?" Rin asked nervously.

But Kite was already gone, searching the other two rooms of the tiny house, swearing when Tezuka wasn't there. "Fuck!" he yelled, slamming Chinen's bedroom door before taking out his phone. "He can't have just left."

Rin would have begged to differ, but he wasn't stupid enough to say so when Kite looked as murderous as he did. "This is so not cool," he murmured, dropping ash on the floor.

"Hey, watch it!" Chinen said, elbowing Rin when he bent to set the cat down. "What did he see? What were you talking about?"

Rin moved casually toward the sink to run water over his cigarette. "Kite and I were...y'know. Saying goodbye."

Chinen blinked. "Saying goodbye?"

Shrugging, Rin crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, you know. We hugged. No big deal."

Eyes narrowed, Chinen clearly suspected that there was more that Rin wasn't saying, but he didn't seem to want to press the issue. Not now, in any event.

"His phone's off. _Damn it_ ," Kite hissed, raking a hand through his hair. "That little idiot." He began to pace.

Rin began to fidget; he hated when Kite paced aimlessly. It made him antsy.

"I didn't hear him leave," Chinen said. "If he left, he was careful not to let me hear him."

"Maybe he went back to your house, Kite?" Rin asked, but Kite shook his head.

"He wouldn't. If he saw me with Rin, he'd want to get as far away from me as he could."

"But we weren't doing anything!" Rin objected.

Kite rubbed his temples, sighed heavily. "You don't know him, Rin. He's probably been _waiting_ for me to disappoint him."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Kite asked. "When you're afraid to trust someone, it's not so ridiculous to tell yourself that they're going to let you down."

"So it doesn't hurt so much when they do," Chinen said, avoiding Rin's gaze.

Covering his face with one hand, Kite sighed, shoulders slumped. "Damn it, Kunimitsu," he murmured.

"Well, we're not going to find him sitting here on our asses," Rin spoke up, squeezing Chinen's shoulder when he passed. He paused at the door, slipping on his ratty sneakers. "Don't forget, we've got an edge on him."

Kite looked up. "We do?"

"Duh," Rin answered, tossing Chinen the keys to his car. "We've got _Christine_."

"Christine," Kite repeated tonelessly.

"My car," Chinen clarified sheepishly.

Heartened somewhat, Kite nodded, moving to put on his own shoes. "Good point. He's got to make it to the bus station first, right?"

"Right," Rin agreed. "You want to call your mom, just in case?"

"No way," Kite was quick to refuse. "She'd be asking all kinds of questions and my dad's home by now and then he'd get in on it..."

Rin made a face. "That would be awkward."

"So let's just go. We're wasting time."

 

* * * 

 

Hana laughed, looking around quickly to see who might be looking. Truthfully, though, she couldn't have cared less. The boy in her arms made reality seem so far away.

"Watch it," she warned, even as she tightened her arms around him. He nuzzled her neck, tickling her and nibbling her earlobe and she twisted in his arms to avoid further tickling, knocking off his hat in the process. He scowled, bending to pick up his favorite red trucker hat.

"You almost took an eye out, Hana-chan," he accused, already reaching for her again. "Be gentle with me; I'm fragile."

She laughed, keeping him at arm's length while she pushed her glasses up along the bridge of her nose. "Sure you are, Kai-kun. A delicate little flower."

He stared at her – so pitiful with that dejected expression – and she couldn't help relenting. She took his hand, bringing him close, and hugged him carefully.

"Hana-chan?"

"Hm?" she answered, wrapping both arms around his neck. She didn't need to stand on her tiptoes to reach his lips and that never failed to please her.

"Could you not call me 'Kai-kun'?" He shuddered, but relaxed when she cozied to him.

"What would you like me to call you, then?"

"How about Yuu-chan?" he offered hopefully, eyes shining under the brim of his hat.

Hana touched his face, smiled sweetly at him. "I think I like that," she murmured, voice lowering the way he'd never heard another girl's voice manage. "Yuuuu-chan," she teased, tilting her head to seek another kiss.

"I like _you_ ," Kai said, heartbeat picking up when her lips touched his. His eyes slid closed and he tried to think about something other than getting Kite Hana into his bed but – as per usual – failing miserably. She was so strong, so sweet, so beautiful – so perfect – that he could scarcely believe his luck. The luck that would end if, or rather _when_ , Kite found out that Kai had been macking on his baby sister. He already had the feeling that Hana's mother wasn't thrilled about the whole thing.

After a moment, when it became obvious that Hana was no longer participating in the kiss, Kai pulled away, turning to see just what it was that had so effectively garnered her attention. "What are you looking at?" He demanded, gaze immediately zeroing in on the tall megane who'd just stepped off the bus and onto the sidewalk. He looked familiar.

"See that guy?" Hana asked, pointing at the guy Kai had noticed.

"Yeah, so?"

"You don't recognize him?"

Kai frowned. "Should I?"

"That's Eishirou's boyfriend," she told him. "They're staying with us."

"What?! I didn't know Kite was..."

"Gay?" She interrupted. "Really, you didn't know?"

"No," Kai scowled. "I mean, I knew that he and Rin were over, but I didn't know he was serious about someone else."

"Oh, yes," Hana told him knowledgably. "He's serious, all right. I was surprised, myself."

"Well, where's Kite, then?" Kai asked, tensing almost as soon as the words left his lips. "Oh, _shit_. He's going to see us, Hana-chan! He's going to see us together and he's gonna kick my ass right here in the street. We gotta go."

Rolling her eyes, Hana reached into Kai's back pocket and took out his cell. "Stop being such a baby. Call Chinen and snoop for some info."

"Fine," he muttered, already punching in Chinen's number. "But you're going to miss me when I'm gone," he warned.

"I'll remember you fondly, Yuu-chan," she promised, taking his hand and tucking it into her back pocket. He stared at her, eyes-wide and tongue-tied, and she laughed. It creeped Kai out sometimes, how much she reminded him of her brother, but it was too late to go back. Men didn't walk away from women like her.

"Kai?" Chinen said, having been met with silence when he'd answered the call. "Are you there?"

"Oh, sorry man," Kai said quickly. "I was distracted."

"It's fine," Chinen assured him. "What's up? We gave up on you earlier."

Laughing nervously, Kai allowed Hana to tug him across the street – closer to Tezuka, though she kept a careful distance. "Yeah, sorry about that. I got busy."

"Okay," Chinen said slowly. "So what's up?"

"Oh, right, _I_ called _you_. I was just wondering if Kite was with you."

"Yeah, he's here. Why?"

"Well, ummm," Kai hedged. "I guess I was just wondering if he was alone."

"What? Are you high?" Chinen demanded.

There was a thump, and then rustling and then _Rin_. "Yuujiroh?"

"Rin?"

"Yeah, sorry. Hiroshi dropped the phone. What's going on?"

"Oh," Kai began again – he was such a terrible liar. "Nothin' much, I guess."

"Okay, that's enough," Hana said, reaching over to pluck the phone out of Kai's hand. "Rin-kun? Is my brother with you?"

"Hana-chan?" Rin screeched – Kai could _hear_ him.

"Yes, may I speak with my brother, please?"

There was a moment of silence, during which Hana shot Kai a withering glance. Kai hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry!" he hissed. "I panicked!"

"Nii-chan," she said. "What did you do to Tezuka to make him want to wander the streets all alone, hm?"

Kai watched, tugging his hat further down when he heard Kite raise his voice. Hana simply held the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes.

"Well, whatever. Do you want me to talk to him?" She sighed, nodding along as Kite barked instructions into the phone. "Fine, fine. Yes, I hear you. Yes, Mom knows I'm out. No, I'm not alone."

There was another extended silence and Hana glanced nervously at Kai. "Uh, we can talk about that later. Yes, you'll probably be mad. No, I really don't care. Fine. I said _fine_. I'll call you back."

"What did he say?" Kai demanded, remembering the captain of the Judo club and what had happened to him when he'd tried to peek under Hana's skirt at the bus stop when they were kids.

"He wants us to follow him," she said, dragging Kai to the crosswalk and tucking his phone into her purse.

"No, about us! What did he say about us?"

"Uh," she began, looking in both directions before hurrying across the street with Kai in tow. "We can talk about that later..."

 

* * *

 

 

It was interesting, Tezuka thought, how disillusionment could be so painful. When it had been Atobe to let him down, he hadn't quite so blindsided as he'd been when Kite had done it. Perhaps he'd been expecting it from Atobe. Perhaps the weeks leading up to the end of their relationship had helped Tezuka prepare for the inevitable – to protect himself, in some way. With Atobe, there'd been a detached sort of resolve. It had hurt, but not like _this_.

Tracing the buttons on his cell phone, Tezuka considered calling Oishi. Who else would commiserate to quite the same extent? Who else felt another person's pain as acutely as Oishi? No one. And that was why he didn't call that familiar number. Oishi would pave the way to a total emotional breakdown, leading Tezuka every step of the way while they took turns analyzing their every failed relationship. As much as he appreciated Oishi's friendship, he wasn't much help in an emotional crisis. Not when Tezuka needed so badly to separate himself from his emotions.

The call he made was the only sensible choice, for there was only one person in the world who possessed the ability to save Tezuka from himself.

Ryoma picked up on the first ring.

"It's me," was all that Tezuka said.

"So I noticed," Ryoma returned. "It's getting late, Buchou."

"Am I disturbing you?" Tezuka asked, wry and testy because Ryoma would welcome it.

"No, we stay up pretty late, you know. Sometimes it's dawn before I can get Keigo to settle down."

Tezuka smiled, catching the disgruntled rumble of Atobe's voice in the background. "What did he say?"

"He said I could fuck off home by myself and he'd worry about what time he retired."

Tezuka laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep the tears at bay. If they started, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.

"I don't know why I'm calling," Tezuka said.

"Who says you need a reason?" Ryoma asked. His voice was muffled for a moment, as he rattled off a street address, presumably to Atobe's driver.

"You and Atobe are going out?" he asked.

"We've been out. One more appearance and we'll drag it home. It's been a long night."

"You hate social obligations," Tezuka reminded him.

"Yeah," Ryoma agreed. "But I like showing him off, you know? He dresses up so nice."

Ryoma yelped, his laughter muffled for a moment before he returned to Tezuka. "Bastard hit me. So where are you, Buchou? Lounging on the beach?"

Silent for a moment, Tezuka glanced around the near-empty terminal. His flight wouldn't board for almost three more hours – he hadn't yet gone through security. "I'm at the airport."

"Oh. You and killer heading back?"

"No," Tezuka said. "Just me."

"Did something happen?" Ryoma asked, the faint music in the background lowering further.

"Yeah," Tezuka said. "I'm not sure I want to talk about it now."

"That's fine," Ryoma said. "Are you sure leaving's the right thing to do?"

"Yes," Tezuka was quick to answer. "I don't think I belong here."

"Buchou," Ryoma began. "It's just a place. You belong where you want to belong."

Tezuka smiled. "With Kite. I don't think I belong with Kite."

"At least he's got _that_ much sense," Atobe muttered, and Tezuka sat up straight, indignant.

"Do you have me on speaker?" Tezuka demanded.

Ryoma was quick to deny. "Of course not. He's just nosy."

There were muffled voices and scuffling sounds before Ryoma spoke again. "There, I moved as far away from him as I can. Go ahead."

"There's not much to say," Tezuka told him. "I just..." He trailed off, rubbing his chest absently. The ache simply wouldn't go away. "Things aren't what I convinced myself they were. I made an error in judgment."

"You sound pretty sure of that," Ryoma said. "It must have been bad, huh? What happened."

"Bad enough," Tezuka said. "So that's that. I'm on my way home; I just wanted someone to know where I was."

"You don't think he'll chase after you? He doesn't strike me as the type to give up without a fight." He paused a moment, covering the phone with his hand. "Oh, let it go, Keigo."

Tezuka sighed. "He won't come after me. He'll know there's no point." After a moment, he continued. "Anyway, I should go now. I'll call you soon."

"Okay," Ryoma said. "Call me if you need me."

"I will," Tezuka promised.

"Buchou?" Ryoma asked, voice gone very quiet. "Running away's not always the answer. People make bad calls sometimes, you know? Even you."

Reaching up, Tezuka lay the back of his hand against the glass window behind him. "That much is evident."

He ended the call without saying goodbye - Ryoma hated saying goodbye – and huddled into the small, plastic seat. He folded his hands in his lap and glanced around uncomfortably; he didn't even have a bag to hide behind.  
  
That image – one he was certain would be a long time in forgetting – of Kite and Rin rose again in his mind and he sighed, exasperated with himself. He had to stop thinking about it. He had to keep his mind on something else. Something that didn't make him feel dead on the inside. Hollow. Empty. _Stupid_.

There was no way he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion – the scene he'd stumbled upon didn't hinge so much on interpretation. That certainty was reason enough for Kite not to follow him. What could he say? What explanation could he offer that might make his actions acceptable? None, Tezuka decided. There was _nothing_ he could say.

With his elbows on his knees, Tezuka leaned forward, cradling his head with the tips of his fingers. Never again would he let someone that close to his heart. Not as long as he lived. Not as long as he-

" _Tezuka_."

He looked up, startled. There was no mistaking that voice, however, no matter that his vision was just this side of blurry. Embarrassed, he ducked his head, wiping his eyes when he adjusted his glasses.

"How did you find me?" he asked, voice low and cold.

"Don't worry about how I found you. Why did you leave?" Kite demanded. As angry as Tezuka was hurt, Kite was looking for a fight. Standing stiffly – back straight and pride intact – Tezuka decided that he was happy to give him one.

"I didn't see the point in staying," Tezuka told him, hands balled into fists at his side. "You were already so thoroughly occupied."

Bowing his head, Kite rubbed his face with both hands. When he looked up, his face was flushed, his glasses crooked. "You are _unbelievable_ , do you know that? What kind of idiot takes off into the darkness without a single clue where he's going? Over nothing!"

Stepping closer, Tezuka drew himself to his full height – Kite didn't have more than inch on him, anyway – and hissed, "I wouldn't call what you were doing nothing. And I made it here fine on my own. Which is how I'll be leaving."

"Kunimitsu," Kite began.

" _Tezuka_ ," Tezuka corrected.

"There's nothing between Rin and I," he said.

Tezuka made a disgusted sound, turned his head away.

"I swear it," Kite went on. "We-" he hesitated, voice lowering considerably. "Do we have to do this _here_?"

"We don't have to do it at all," Tezuka said. "In two and a half hours, I'm getting on that plane."

"Fine," Kite said, voice rising again. "Get on the goddamned plane, but I'm coming with you. We can fucking well fight all the way to Fukuoka if that's how you want it."

"What I want, _Kite_ ," Tezuka said, jaw tight. "Is for you to leave me alone. I have nothing else to say to you."

"No?" Kite asked. "Well, I have something to say to you."

"I don't want to hear it," Tezuka said, turning away. He had the ticket, Kite didn't. He'd just go through security and wait for his flight to board where he knew Kite would not follow.

"I love you," Kite said. He didn't lower his voice, didn't whisper. Tezuka closed his eyes, willing himself forward. He couldn't afford to hesitate – not even for this. With the first step Tezuka took in the opposite direction, Kite called out to him again.

"Tezuka, did you hear me? I'm sorry for what you saw, but you're wrong about this."

Throat tightening, Tezuka took a deep breath. Despite his best intentions, despite the certainty that walking away was the smartest thing he could do, he found that he simply couldn't move another inch.

"Rin's been my friend for years – I care about him – but you're the one I love."

When Tezuka did not turn around, Kite's voice wavered, only for a moment. "Tezuka. _Please_."

After a moment, Tezuka half-turned to look over his shoulder. Kite didn't appear so angry any longer. It was then that Tezuka noticed the small group of people huddled near an oversized advertisement. Chinen, Rin, Kite's sister and Kai – watching intently and trying to be inconspicuous in the doing of it. They were listening, though, of that much Tezuka was certain.

He looked at Kite, the hurt he'd wanted so badly to hide surfacing at last. "Eishirou, I saw you. I saw you holding each other."

"You saw me hugging my friend. As you hugged Atobe."

Tezuka looked away again, embarrassed.

"Tezuka," Kite said. "You saw us saying goodbye."

He took a step closer, And then another. That Tezuka did not seek to evade him seemed to lend him the confidence he needed to take the remaining few steps between them. His touch, when it came, was light, hesitant – nothing more than his fingertips trailing up along Tezuka's arm.

"I love you," he said again. "I _won't_ let you go."

Just Kite's hand on Tezuka's shoulder – holding him, turning him – was enough to weaken his resolve.

"You love me, too," Kite murmured, getting both arms around Tezuka's shoulders to pull him close. Tezuka hesitated – going slowly – but going all the same. "I wouldn't hurt you; why are you always so quick to think the worst of me?"

Arms still at his sides, Tezuka allowed Kite to hold him despite the audience he knew such a spectacle might draw. Immobile with indecision, but unable to push Kite away, Tezuka pressed his face to Kite's neck merely to breathe him in. Could he walk away, after being this close? Could he throw away the words that Kite had found the courage to offer when he couldn't find that same courage within himself? Was he willing to trust blindly, when he'd never been able to do so before?

"Kunimitsu," Kite murmured, voice soft, breath warm against Tezuka's ear. "Tell me you love me, too. Just this once."

Closing his eyes, Tezuka pressed the palms of his hands tight to Kite's back. His skin was damp beneath the thin t-shirt he wore; it occurred to Tezuka that Kite had probably run the length of the airport to find him.

"Trust me," Kite said, arms tightening around him when Tezuka didn't seek to free himself. "I'll say it as loud as you want, as many times as I have to until you believe me. But I'm not letting you go."

"Eishirou," he murmured, clinging as Rin had clung hours before. It was overwhelming to Tezuka, to know that Kite wanted him this much, wanted to belong to him this much. "I thought..."

Kite was silent, seemingly content to hold Tezuka against him.

"I love you," Kite said again, as though there were no need to work through recriminations or misunderstandings. As though there was only one thing that mattered to him.

"I love you, too," Tezuka finally whispered, the words escaping him in a near-silent rush of breath. He was quiet after, not at all certain that he could utter another word. Still, he held fast to Kite, who nuzzled the curve of his ear, his temple.

"Stay with me," Kite murmured, and it wasn't a question. The heat between them, Tezuka's arms around him, were answer enough.

 

* * *

 

Ryoma's phone, nestled in the pocket of his sport jacket, vibrated again. Atobe looked over, one brow arched in question.

Frowning, Ryoma turned away from the other people seated at the table and opened his inbox.

_From: Tezuka K._  
Time: 21:42:15  
Subject: -__- 

_Never mind._

Snickering to himself, Ryoma slid his phone closed and snuck a look at Atobe, who gazed at him impassively. Ryoma shifted in his chair, leaning to squeeze Atobe's knee beneath the table where no one else could see. At Atobe's immediate expression of distaste, Ryoma grinned. And he blew him a kiss.

 

 

 

_~ end ~_


End file.
